Cthulhu Muyo
by Ministry Agent
Summary: What does the disappearance of Tenchi, the arrival of a group of trigger-happy occult investigating westerners, a world spanning conspiracy and the awakening of absolute evil have in common? Read this and find out! (Defunct)
1. The Falling Star

Roll up, roll up for the first part of what will be a hugely satirical parody on the works of H.P Lovecraft. If you want to know what to expect, just follow these simple guidelines: Mix 4/5th H.P Lovecraft (i.e. horror) with 1/5th Douglas Adams (i.e. Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy) in a bucket. Sprinkle humour liberally. Pour in a pint of blood and various off-cuts. Throw over someone you don't like. HUZZAH! You now have 'Cthulhu Muyo'. 

WARNING!!! This story may offend old aged pensioners, small children, people with bladder/heart problems or personages of extreme religious upbringing. That also includes people with absolutely no sense of humour whatsoever. It starts with a weird chant and ends with a roar and that may offend people, so anyone with a dislike of Blasphemous Books of Evil shouldn't read any further.

It's recommended to have at least a small knowledge of the Mythos before starting, but it isn't necessary. If you don't know your Necronomicon from your Nyarlythotep, and you muddle your Mnar stones with your Mi-go, it doesn't much matter. It's all in good fun and will be explained along the way, although if you don't know who Tenchi or his friends are (THEY'RE MAIN CHARACTERS) you'd better go back to Sailor Moon or the other less debauch series you usually watch. 

BEWARE THE FNORDs! And remember this is not SI.

I DEDICATE THIS STORY TO H.P LOVECRAFT & DOUGLAS ADAMS  
TWO MEN WHO CHANGED WRITING FOREVER.

- - - - - - - - - -

**CTHULHU MUYO  
**

Or  


How I learned to stop worrying and love the Tenchi Mytho

* * * *

"Yes, if we could decipher even the weensiest rune of some of the noisome mysteries to be found in certain Forbidden-Book-Of-The-Month Club selections, humanity in general would endure a mind-boggling freak-out of such duration that the world's underwear would be ere long filled with fear-pinched crap-logs of madness."  
- The Brouhaha Of Cat-Hula ; Mark McLaughlin

* * * *

PRE-PROLOGUE:-  
The Shadow Over Inne's Mouth 

Thirty years ago, today...

The men swayed as one. Each was stripped to the waist, their bodies sweaty and strangely oiled. All of them were in a circle around the stone altar that was sitting in a wooded grove beneath the Louisiana stars. Slowly they stood up and one of their number stepped forward to the altar. He clambered atop it and waited there, arms outstretched, eyes gazing at each man in turn. 

"Brothers," he said slowly, "Fhtagn Cthulhu."

"Ph-nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn," chanted the others in unison.

"Brothers," said the man again, "I have had a Dream."

The other men looked at each other in apprehension. A dream, they thought. Or rather, a Dream.

"Last night, I opened my mind to the Great Old One," he continued, "and he spoke to me!"

The cult craned their heads forward to hear more clearly.

"And he said, 'Tell my followers that soon I shall awake. And Lo', shall I teach new ways of killing. For those who worship me are to be the first of many. Doth for that is my wish." The man hung his head for a second. "So I asked when he should awaken. Once again he said, 'Soon."

A few men of the cult nodded sagely, but others muttered to those standing next to them.

"Pull the other one," cried one of the men.

"Yeah, you told us that last January," said another.

"Same speech too."

And then all the cultists were calling out.

"You expect us to-"

"Cthulhu said that? That's bullsh-"

"I've been doing this for twenty years and-"

The man stamped on the stone altar to try and bring a bit of order, but only succeeded in hurting his feet. "Brothers, I am your deacon. Listen to me!"

"Shut up Inne. You've been calling yourself Deacon since Old Crawley died!" shouted the cultist who had started the heckling. 

"Okay, okay. He didn't say 'Doth' or ''Lo" or whatever but he did say 'Soon'. All right?" the man spluttered, flustered.

The other cultists nodded, if a little unhappily. He was, he thought, now back in control. "Now for tonight's meeting we've got a special treat." He smiled. "A fresh young sacrifice."

The cultists groaned. "Are you mad?" screamed the heckler from their midst. "You're gonna have police crawling all over the place."

"Yeah, and those investigators," said another solemnly. 

"Don't mention Investigators to me. I was in a cult over in Ipswich, MA when they hit us for stealing some occult book."

"Goddamn Investigators. Always stopping our plans!"

"Meddling kids, annoying antiquarians, pesky professors-" 

"Don't forget their mangy mutts."

The man hopped down from the altar and stormed over to the heckler. "Would you shut up?" he asked, clenching his fists. "We are supposed to be Brothers. Men and woman against a world that no-one wants to return to its rightful owner. Do you get me?"

"Screw you, you boring old goat. I'm going to worship a different evil deity. One that doesn't allow arseholes to be deacons."

With that he and the rest of the cultists filed out of the copse and back toward civilisation. "DAMN YOU!" screamed the man, waving his fist, but no-one was listening and very soon he was the only one there. He shrugged sadly, "You'll pay," he said quietly. "All of you are going to pay." 

* * * * * 

PROLOGUE:-  
The Lurker near Yuggoth

"Beware ye Khulu and ye beasts of his. Beware ye other beasts as well for they be not nice. Stick with the cats and dogs of this land, for they are furry and well being. Remember ye words and doth he says, 'Don't touch the monstr.' For that is being of the stupid."  
- Evil Beasts and How they work for You ; Julius Van Mare  
(Deposited in the London Museum by a shady man circa 1923)

Seven planets down from Yuggoth; nestled innocuously between a red planet and a very hot rock sits a blue green planetoid its inhabitants had the misfortune to call Earth.

It wasn't as though Earth was a particularly bad name, if you were human at least, but rather it was other races that had a raw deal uttering that single, ill-fated word. For instance, in Sodonium (the standard language of the Eagle Nebula) the word Earth actually means, "What is that weird nodule?"

This was a mixed blessing as, when a Sodonium speaking Z'rukzii crash landed at Roswell in 1947, the first thing he said to the National Guardsman who found him was, "Mlan' Lafds Bittle Stashfender." or roughly translated, "My heads hurt like the eternally watery pits of Stashfender." The soldier was so surprised at finding a sixteen limbed, talking goldfish that he made the majestic mistake of saying, "What on Earth?"

The Z'rukzii flew into a rage at this believed insult and killed three military personnel before being subdued with a machine-gun. The United States now has a policy of blowing seven shades out of any UFO entering American airspace, and on two occasions that has actually saved humanity. The other five incidents destroyed benevolent races hell bent on bringing peace and love, but we can't all be winners now can we?

Be that as it may, the real beginning must be returned to, and that was the entire huggermuggery that human kind had thrown upon the alien societies. In fact the only peoples who could say Earth without fear of embarrassment were those of the Galactic Union, who had languages so close to humans that it was uncanny. In particular, the Juraian Empire had a language nearly _exactly_ like modern Nipponese that it begs the question: Why?

The answer: We'll never know, but leading scientists believe it has something to do with back-learning genes and sex. Lots of sex. On the other hand, perhaps it doesn't.

So once again we turn back to the item at hand and that is the indescribable terror that will soon befall this minute planet. For although Earth may believe the dinosaurs lived a long time, and the populace of the Eagle Nebula may believe they've lived a long time and even the now thought deceased scientist, Washu Hakubi, length alive is believed to be a long time, none come even close to the Great Old Ones and their friends and foes. For compared to them, all those other lengths of time added together are still likened to dust on a beach. INFERIOR GRAINS OF DUST COMPARED TO SANITY BLASTING UNDEAD GIANTS!

Are you getting the picture?

So our story starts one Sunday at 10 o'clock in the morning (GMT) just outside Yarmouth on the Isle of Wight, where one investigator of strangeness is to be embroiled in the greatest adventure since… well, Gustaf Johansen sailed into a bit of bother in the Pacific. 

* * * *

CHAPTER I:-  
THE FALLING OF THE STAR

"15) When a religious artefact begins emitting light, CLOSE YOUR EYES. Thousands of cultists could be saved every year if they'd just remember this simple safety tip.  
16) During ritual sacrificing, taking bits home for later is now generally considered 'bad form.' "  
- 'Being a Cultist' pamphlet ; Society For Evil Overlords

Spender House was, from the outside, quite an awe-inspiring piece of work. Turn of the century architecture with a creative flair far beyond its years combined to create a building both pleasing to the eye and functional to boot. The six acres of land was kept in perfect condition by four part time gardeners. The windows were cleaned every five weeks. It really was quite a beautiful estate.

By the way the outside has been described you've probably been led to believe the interior wasn't up to the same standards. You'd be wrong. They were doubly impressive. All twenty-two rooms neatly cared for.

This is what comes of having money. Something that Charles Spender, technically orphaned, twenty five year old owner of the house had in rather an abundance. For you see, Charles was not another dilettante. He wasn't another foppish squanderer.   
Charles was an investigator, and right now he was investigating the contents of his kitchen fridge. He stood there, dressed in pyjamas and dressing gown, rummaging through the contents of the salad drawer. Taking a bit of carrot from its bag, he thoughtfully gnawed on it as he set off toward his bedroom. He bid one of the maids who was sweeping the stairs good morning and entered his dormitory. Just like all the other rooms in the house this one was totally spotless (apart from the crumpled sheets on the bed) and strangely unused. Almost as if the building was kept as some sort of life-size dollhouse. However, there was one unique aspect about this room. Charles Spender's £2 million telescope sat silently on its tripod staring out of the window with its one good eye. Quietly Charles pulled up a chair, swallowed the last remaining bit of carrot and stared up at the heavens.

* * * *

This was exactly where the Police Ship 'Yagami' was at that same moment although neither party had any knowledge of the other. On board, Officer Kiyone was slouched in her chair in the cockpit. A nervous tic was beginning to rear itself under her right eye and every so often she would make subtle, nearly bloodthirsty, glances at her partner. Officer Mihoshi didn't notice this however, because she was too busy talking. >Within reason it could be accurately stated that directing traffic for fourteen hours through a binary star system would put a bit of a damper on anyone, but having Mihoshi along for the ride was especially bad. Even saints killed sometimes. "Kiyone, can you believe it?" giggled the blonde haired detective clasping her hands together. "It's not a case of believing it. It's a case of evading it," muttered Kiyone. "Twenty hours non-stop!" "Terrifying." "I thought you liked 'The Galaxy's Most Dangerous Police Chases' show." "That was before you took an interest in it." Mihoshi smiled happily to herself and watched as Earth began to loom on the view-screen. "Tenchi's house. The big television. Sasami's cooking. Huh, Kiyone?" She turned to her rather dilapidated partner. Kiyone was staring at her, mouth open, eyes wide. One hand was pointing. Mihoshi followed it. She had just enough time to see CNN's latest space venture fill the screen before it collided head-on with their spaceship. 

* * * *

Spender perched the notepad on his knee and squinted through the telescope's eyepiece. Carefully he jotted the co-ordinates of a particularly pretty supernova into it. There was a curt knock at the door. He didn't bother to look up and so, just called out for the person to enter. After a pause the door opened and a panda shuffled in. It wasn't actually a panda of course, because A) Pandas don't carry trays of tea or act as housemaids; and, B) A panda opening his door, would have been very silly, even in the strange and disturbing world of occult investigation.

The bulk was actually Mrs. Perriwinkle, Spender's housemaid. She put the tea tray she was carrying down on the bureau by the door and smiled. "Getting on with your hobby, Master Spender?" she asked, wiping her hands on her pinny. "It's nice to see you doing something without squamous overtones. I was just saying that to the gardener, I was, and Mr. Honeydew really did agree-"

Spender rolled his eyes silently. "Thank you, Mrs. Perriwinkle, but I must admit I was looking for Formalhaut."

The fat old woman looked at him in a way that was universally reserved for Encyclopedia salesmen and smelly gutter people. If he'd bothered to look at her he would probably have burst into hysterics at the way her already furrowed brow creased into even more intricate lines.

"Formalhaut," she said uncertainly. 

"Yes, Mrs. Perriwinkle," smiled Spender. "And it is imperative I find it, as it may influence my investigation into the Cult that follows Hyoexyoop, The Unclean Unholy Sultan of the Underworld with The Evil Insane Maw." He crossed himself and sneezed violently. Mrs. Perriwinkle looked at him sadly. "I thought you were giving all that silliness up."

"No," he said and went back to looking through the telescope. Maybe Fate had used her immense destiny shaping powers to move the space viewing item the barest fraction of an inch to the left. However that is rather unlikely because if you were to pick one of the (hopefully) saviours of the world it really would be a nice idea to pick someone who had more than a snowball's chance in Hell of accomplishing it. Another answer, would be that Spender had knocked the telescope himself, although that was also a bit far-fetched because it was a rather big heavy telescope and it'd take more than a tap to move it. So the only plausible theory, although incidentally the wrong one, is that a large microwave using object, (say a communications satellite) colliding with a suitably advanced ionic field, (for example an advanced ionic field using spaceship) could cause a massive electromagnetic pulse dragging anything suitably charged (as in a £2 million telescope) toward it. The theory's totally wrong, but it's interesting to note that every television in Connecticut jumped a sixth of an inch east when the Yagami crashed, resulting in a few mildly amusing fatalities that were quickly picked up by supermarket tabloids the world over.

("Television Possessed by Satan Squashed my Son" being a brilliant one that, for some obscure reason, started a rash of legal actions against television manufacturers. Daemonic possessions are obviously a technical flaw).

Instead of seeing what he believed was Formalhaut, he saw this: A bright light fell towards the Earth and at first he thought it was a meteorite. Suddenly, it stopped. That isn't a very normal thing for meteorites to do and even a relatively amateur astronomer as Spender realised this. Then, even more inexplicably, it began to reverse and after going back about 400 yards it stopped again. There it sat, immobile for a good minute or so, when after that it screamed toward the ground and disappeared over the horizon. Spender turned to his housemaid.   
"The phone Mrs. Perriwinkle, please."

* * * *

"I'm _SO_ sorry, Kiyone," wailed Mihoshi trying to hold back the flow of tears with her uniform's sleeve. It wasn't really working. "I'm really, really sorry. I didn't see it…" She tailed off into a series of short sobs. Her partner patted her gently on the back. "It's okay, Mihoshi," she lied, "I expect it wasn't a very important satellite."

"Really?" sniveled Mihoshi.

So Kiyone put the ship into reverse, and the scratching of debris against the Yagami's hull showed just how bad the damage really was. "What country has the initials CNN?" asked Mihoshi all the while looking at the glittering shards of metal on the viewscreen.   
"I don't know. Let's ask Tenchi when we get back," smiled Kiyone, as she silently wondered whether Earth investigated space accidents. 

There was a pause. Then; "Well let's hurry up, or we'll miss the start of 'Galaxy's Most Dangerous Police Chases'!" the blonde detective laughed, apparently instantly forgetting every worrying event that occurred more than a second ago.

"We've got another three hours yet!"

"More time to get ready!"

Kiyone put the ship into top gear and slammed her foot down on the gas pedal. "Damn Bubblehead," she whispered as the Yagami sped toward Japan.

* * * *

Spender listened to the voice as the phone was picked up at the other end. "Greenwich Observatory, who is this?"

"Erm, my name's Charles Spender. Did you spot a-" He groped for something to say without sounding totally mad. "Did you spot an anomalous meteorite over the pacific?" He rattled off the co-ordinates. 

There was a gasp at the other end. "You saw it too?" A whistle. "I thought I was seeing things. I mean the way it moved…"

Spender interrupted him. "Sorry, I'm afraid I didn't see it."

"But you said you'd seen it!"

"No," continued Spender. "I'm afraid I asked whether you've seen it. Sorry. Bye." He gave the phone back to Mrs. Perriwinkle and leaned back in his chair. He ran every clue he had through his mind and recited them aloud. "A strange movement of my telescope. A strange meteorite. A strange movement of said strange meteorite. What does that add up to for you, Mrs. Perriwinkle?"

"Why, something strange of course, Master Spender."

Spender suddenly shot bolt upright, his eyes ablaze. The only thing needed for him to complete the image was to shout-

"Eureka!" He jumped from his chair and stood there looking out toward the horizon. "Mrs. Perriwinkle, this is not something strange. It is something four-foldly strange. And that means _Occultism_." He hissed the last word like it was something that could harm him if it was spoken any louder.

"You always say that. The time that man was killed with no visible signs of entry, what did you say it was? Occultism. It didn't even cross your mind to think he'd slit his wrists, and there you were upsetting every relative by asking if the poor man was a practitioner of Hoodoo."

"Well, of course, you just _have _to bring up my one true failure."

Mrs. Perriwinkle shook her head. "Or how about that time you believed Mr. Kershaw the butcher had been mind-swapped with a beetle."

"Well I was close wasn't I?" Spender brought his hand down hard on the window's glass to emphasise the point. "Depression is very, very similar to mind-swapping. Now give me the phone. I have to talk to associates."

The housemaid stared at him. "Those associates are little more than rapscallions and ill-kempt wanderers." She held the phone tighter. "You shall have no word with them. All they do is hunt horrible, squamous beings. What would your father say?" 

Spender smiled at her warmly. "Seeing as that my father turned into a horrible, squamous being a few years ago and lives off the coast of Cornwall, I feel that he would say little bar some obscene frog-like croaking noises."

"What would your poor dead mother say?"

He groaned. "My mother, as you well know, is living with a greengrocer in York."

"Don't be so silly," snapped Mrs. Perriwinkle. "You've never been able to accept it. You're just living in denial."

"Right. If it makes you feel better. I killed my mother with a shovel. I bashed her cranium in after listening to a particularly frenzied bout of Metallica's 'Killing Time'. I then proceeded to bury her under the thorn bush but only after lopping off her head and feasting upon the rancid brains therein. And in your happy sugar-coated Never-Never Land she'd cry, "Oh my son, stay at home and be a layabout like your father."

He sniffed loudly. "In the real world though, between mouthfuls of cucumber, she'd sputter, 'Son, go and do what you want. Because frankly, I don't give a stuff.' Do I get the phone now?"

She handed it out to him and he snatched it from her grasp, speed dialling before it had even warmed to his palm. It was picked up on the third ring. "Hello, Adams here," came a soft Liverpudlian accent from the other end of the line.

"Adams it's Spender, listen-"

"Spender," said Adams. "Oh God, brilliant! We're in Cardiff, after that bat beast. It's totally spectacular."

"Tell him about the policeman," whispered a voice in the background.

"Oh yeah, there's coppers everywhere."

"Tell him about the _dead_ policeman," grumbled the voice again.

"Oh, Jesus, yeah. There's a totally dead rozzer down here."

There was a crash and suddenly a new voice with a heavy New York accent hissed down the phone. "Spender, it's me Burton. There's a dead cop here, ripped up like a Hell's Kitchen junkie. It's the best thing we've seen all week." 

"Drop everything. Get everyone you can to Heathrow by six this afternoon. I've got something bigger."

"Full gear?" whispered Burton.

"Yep," said Spender and hung up. He looked out toward the sun that was already close to its peak. "Pack my bags Mrs. Perriwinkle and don't spare the kimonos." 

- - - - - - - - - - 

Tenchi:- I thought my life was hard.

Ryoko:- What do you mean Tenchi?

Tenchi:- Well, I wouldn't want to spend my life hunting monsters. It's silly.

Ayeka:- It's just as silly allowing a monster to hunt you.

Ryoko:- HEY!

Spender:- Can't you two shut up and do a simple epilogue? Look out for the next chapter. You may even find these three in it. Though I doubt anyone would want that.

Ayeka:- Shut up.

Ryoko:- Yeah.

Tenchi:- Cthulhu Muyo; it's seriously occultist with strange, decidedly violent overtones.

Spender:- And it has women too.

- - - - - - - - - -

The Call of Cthulhu RPG (on which this is based) is the property of Chaosium Inc. Tenchi Muyo is the sole responsibility of the company known as Pioneer. Many characters and ideas are also based on Pagan Publishing's excellent supplement 'Delta Green', and it also has to be said that many Mythos monsters/characters are not from H.P Lovecraft but from other just as able writers. If I knew your names, guys, I'd write them but until I remember who from who… I'll just not take any niceties from people. The Guide to being a Cultist is from RPG.net. I couldn't find the original author. Ministry Agent owns all else… Got it? Good.


	2. The Cat Goddess of South Nippon

Guns. Blood. A disbelieving everyone and the beginning of the beginning of the End are the main plot points of this chapter. Beginnings and finales entwine in a pretty freaky dance and the entire causality of life is torn open. Which is amusing. No Washu. Very, very sorry. Her contract has expired and well, y'know, I promise episode 3. I wanted a grandly humorous entrance, unlike everyone else's'.

Prepare for Chapter 2! 

- - - - - - - - - - 

INFO INSERT I:-  


Who are these Investigators anyway?

"Foolhardy Investigators needed for ill-fated Washington State hunt. Will pay food, housing, travel expenses, funeral bills. Good chance of dying in an excitingly woody location. Call 232-3232 and ask for Dr. Griest."  
- Advertisement in Arkham Newspaper

  
It is a mildly bemusing fact that humanity has been able to not only drag itself from the primordial mud, but also flourish in a rather disgusting way. It is a lot more than bemusing to notice that humanity has also been able to go through this evolutionary process without being smashed, stomped, gored, impaled, squidged and then swept under the carpet by an alien race larger, and probably more important, than themselves. 

You see mankind is nearly the most cynical, uncaring, hate-filled, xenophobic, downright power hungry race to have ever had the misfortune to come around. When other races developed space travel, they quickly deduced that there were probably a lot of other races who were bigger, nastier, more advanced and had bigger spaceships then them. Cleverly, these races kept a low profile until such a time when they could be the bigger, nastier, more advanced race with bigger spaceships. Humanity, after getting a spaceship, quickly says that they're alone ("No aliens on the moon. Therefore no aliens anywhere."), then sends a probe to the nethermost regions of the galaxy. Affixed to it is a little road map back to Earth and a diagram demonstrating the tastiest bits of the human anatomy. If man actually unwrapped itself from its pathetic little existence for the barest moment, it would probably go into the biggest hissyfit the Universe has ever seen.

Why the long monotonous spiel, you might ask? Well, it is an unfortunate and downright ironic fact that mankind is practically sitting on the biggest extraterrestrial powder keg ever, while at the same time being under the thumb of the Juraian Empire. 

Billions upon billions of years ago Earth was ruled over by various alien races who vied with each other for total dominance (or in some cases just a place to stay). The most hideously mind-bogglingly of these were those who are now known as the Great Old Ones. Even today they still exit, some trapped beneath the sea or soil, others banished, while some still walk free. Which is a pretty big embuggerance I can tell you. Then you've got the fact that most of the allies and foes of these monstrosities are still on Earth, engaging in activities that are better left to themselves.

Of course, not everyone on Earth is in complete and utter ignorance of this situation. I mean, there is you and I, and we're getting along rather well with this whole thing aren't we? You haven't collapsed into a wailing, moaning, gibbering mass of flesh, have you? 

Good.

A history lesson, if you will. Back in the Autumn of 1872 there was a man named, Sir Joseph Falkenham. He lived in England, in a big house, with a lot of servants. He was a bit of dabbler in the unknown and used to buy strange black bound books that were inked with blood. Then one day he was accidentally savagely mauled to death by something with big claws and dripping pulsating teeth. His nephew, being an odd sort of fellow, made it his ambition to find what happened to his poor deceased uncle. He too was savagely mauled to death by the same beast that did in his relative.

After going through half the family tree, the second cousin of Falkenham's step-sister's wife, finally succeeded in getting somewhere and heroically killed the beast by burning down half the county. This could have been all for nought if the lad, Anthony Rexham, had died. However, he didn't and so he brought together men from around the country and told them what he had found.

Up until the First World War, investigators as they were now known, were divided into two classes. The upper class people, authors, artists, antiquarians and other toffs who had money and upstanding were known as Investigators. It was their lot in life to pootle around in automobiles, poke their noses into mysteries, then see something horrible and go stark raving bonkers. The lower class of investigators were those with less money (plumbers, telephone-repairmen, postmen, policemen, servants etc.) and they were called Under-Scrogsmen. The reason for this name lies in the Celtic word "Scroog" meaning, "to be killed horribly"... the more intellectual of Investigators taking it upon themselves to get a sense of humour. It was the Under-Scrogsman's task to walk about or, if they were lucky, get a lift in an Investigator's car. They would assist the Investigator with poking his nose into mysteries and, instead of going insane, they were the people who got eaten or zapped or splatted just to make said Investigator see how scary the creature was and then go nuts. Understandably, nobody liked being an Under-Scrogsman.

After World War I and America had cut its teeth on the world stage, U.S Investigators popped up. During the 1920s America was the cultists favourite hangout. Occultism was chic and mythos cults were two a penny. Things continued like before until 1929, when there was the biggest documented case of Mythos activity ever known (up until then at least). The small New England town of Innsmouth was wiped off the face of the Earth by a joint Marine, Navy, Army and FBI raid. The population of the town had been interbreeding with the strange creatures that lived off the coast and under the waves. The children of these obscene couplings turned into replicas of the monsters that had spawned them or in some obscure cases had left the town to become politicians or evangelists. After this the United States Government set up a special branch of paranormal stopping soldiers that was to be known as Delta-Green. Over time pretty much every country set up a counter-paranormal agency and everything to do with weirdness and spooky stuff slipped back into Urban Legend.

This didn't, however, stop certain individuals setting up their own monster hunting groups, and today there is a massive group of people around the world who assist each other in the saving of the world. They are known as the 'Miskatonic Few'...

This is the story of one of those men. And his Under-Scrogsmen.

* * * * CHAPTER II:-  
The Cat Goddess of South Nippon

"That is not dead which can eternal lie,  
And with strange aeons even death may die."  
- Abdul Alhazred ; The Necronomicon

When they had finally arrived back at their apartment, Kiyone and Mihoshi got straight to work. Whereas Mihoshi got ready for the coming TV spectacle, Kiyone decided on trying to fix the dents and dings that littered the Yagami's hull. She was still picking bits of metal from the engine turbines a half hour before they were ready to go. She was, quite understandably, not in the least bit chuffed that the Bubble Head had ignored all pleas for assistance and in the end told her they weren't going.

Mihoshi cried.

Eventually a compromise was reached, and they soon set off for the homey confines of Tenchi's mountainside retreat. Someone had earlier had the aforethought to set the living room up into a ramshackle bedroom. Blankets and duvets littered the sofas and floor, ready to be used as the night wore on. The police officer's arrival was quickly acknowledged and within an hour of their arrival Mihoshi and Sasami were huddled beneath blankets on the sofas, watching The Galaxy's Most Dangerous Police Chase Show's presenter, Coogan Dermeti, introducing the first batch of episodes. The other members of the household quietly sat around the table, casually talking, until Washu pointed out that the conversation was going stale and promptly fled to the bowels of her lab.

Throughout the entire time she had sat at the table, no matter how much her mouth made casual banter, Kiyone's mind was working overdrive as to when to ask Tenchi about the satellite.

"Detective Kiyone hasn't said much, has she?" said Ayeka, taking another sip of her tea.   
Ryoko just crammed another teacake into her mouth and shrugged. "She doesn't say anything interesting anyway."

Kiyone didn't say anything. "Ayeka's right. She does look a bit… preoccupied." nodded Tenchi staring at her blank face.

"In this bunch of clips," crooned the ever-smiling Coogan, "we'll show you the terror that faces our officers every day." The television screen flicked to a view from inside a two man police speeder. In front of it another speeder was weaving across the road, scattering pedestrians in its wake. "This is the planet Adelphi. The driver and passenger of the speeder ahead were earlier involved in a hideous bank heist that left six people dead. See how GP Officer Pososl, tries to ram the vehicle."

"Are you okay?" asked Tenchi, patting Kiyone gently on the hand.   
"Hmmm?" came the reply.   
Ryoko rapped her knuckles on the police officer's head. "Knock, knock. Anyone home?"

"Stop that!" snapped Ayeka.   
"Yeah, stop it!" echoed Kiyone, realising what was going on.

GP Officer Pososl stood on the bonnet of his police speeder. The scenery was whipping by at a phenomenal rate and he was having trouble keeping his balance. The Coogan voice over started up again, "With the ramming tactic failed, the brave police officer puts the vehicles controls into the hands of his partner, and engages in a spectacular stunt. A jump from one vehicle to another at speeds of up to 90 mph." Pososl swung his arms, preparing for his leap. The criminal speeder dropped back slightly, and that was when he made his move. He jumped. He overcompensated. There was a slow motion shot of his horrified face as he landed a good six feet in front of the criminal's vehicle. Without slowing it ran him down, spraying a plume of viscous, stringy ichor from its repulsor lifts as it did so. "GP Officer Pososl, run down and brutally slain by the men he sought to capture. Grim irony or amusing pathos? You decide!"

The group at the table watched the screen in disgust. "Sasami," cried Ayeka, "that's horrible. Go to bed this instant."

"But Ayeka-"

"That's really sick. I'd go to bed, Sasami," agreed Ryoko. She looked distastefully at the screen. 

"Okay." mumbled the Princess, who quietly crept upstairs, Ryo-oki on her head. Kiyone winced and looked at her partner who was partially hidden by the sofa's back. "Do you have to watch that?" she asked.

"Snore," snored Mihoshi.

Kiyone shook her head ruefully. She turned back to Tenchi. "This afternoon, Mihoshi and I… well, we had a little accident." The three others around the table stared back at her.

"Well, Mihoshi crashed the Yagami into a satellite." Tenchi opened his mouth to say something. "It really was an accident. It had the letters CNN on it and we wondered whether it was important." Everything she'd thought about saying had suddenly left her and she sat there spilling her guts out like a fool. She shut up.

"CNN," thought Tenchi aloud. "CNN. It's a news channel. It probably wasn't that important."

"Wahey!" laughed Ryoko while elbowing the officer in the ribs. "Racking up a few points on your licence?"

"Only a simple minded criminal such as you would take pleasure in this." sniffed Ayeka.

Ryoko cocked an eyebrow, "And you _didn't_ laugh when Mihoshi fell in the lake?"

"You bring that up! Are you saying I'm a hypocrite?"

"Well if the crown fits," hissed Ryoko standing up, eyes glaring.

And it was then that the doorbell rang, which was rather uncharacteristic considering the time of night. Everybody turned toward the sound. "Who could that be?" asked Ayeka, who had forgotten about the impending threat of violence. Tenchi got up and went to the font door. He then did something incredibly unwise.

He opened it. 

The single most ironic fact is that if he opens the door something bad happens, but if he doesn't open it the entire history, future and present of EVERYTHING would instantly cease to be and never therefore technically the of existence be. (The grammar in that sentence is correct. It's just working on multiple synaptic levels.)

There have been incidents in the history of the universe where time has actually stopped and the future has, not only been in the question but rather, gone backwards. The reason is quite simply known among scientific and New Age circles as the 'Backwards Gene' theory. The idea revolves around the principle that no matter what happens to change the future it will always right itself, so as to make the incident occur. The most famous of these 'backward gene' jumps was the Kennedy Assassination. In 1993 a team of technicians sent a man back through time to kill David Phillip Kline, who was the murderer of Kennedy, before that fateful Dallas day. The experiment was a complete and utter failure. 

When the deed was done, and the man returned the only thing they found was that the name of the person who assassinated the President had changed. Same history, same woes, same death at the hands of Jack Ruby, but still a different man with a different name. The scientists, being clever people, realised that the past couldn't be changed because of a single unbreakable law. The past was the future at one point and therefore can't be changed because changing it would mean going off the script. Because the script is time and everything in the scenes is space, removing one is tantamount to removing the other resulting in a complete breakdown of pretty much everything, ever.

Rules are always bendable. That works with the 'Backward Gene' theory but the things that it does are so minute as to be unintelligible. That is of course, unless you planned out every tiny detail of every single 'Backward Gene' jump, so as to set up a continuous string of incidents that would lead up to a totally future changing jump. Any person doing that would need a lot of time on their hands, but as the old saying goes, "A million monkeys on a million typewriters…"

"Where are we?" moaned Spender, trying to get a clear view around the driver's seat and at his passengers. He and his entourage were parked in their people carrier. If they had been somewhere with the remotest hint of civilisation he'd have been happy, but they were sitting on a road, flanked by dense woodland and mountainsides. Japan was turning out to be not the adventure he was craving for. Not to mention the time there was just bordering ten o'clock at night and the darkness was smothering them like a fog.

"Where are we?" he moaned again. In the back seats sat Dr. Heinkel and the hulking form of Lance Burton. The imposing New York taxi-driver, Burton, shook his scarred head; "No idea. I think it's the south-east though."

"I am not knowing ver ze are. Zis country iz of ze silliness," said Dr. Heinkel in his thick German accent.

"What did he say?" asked Adam Adams, one of the London Herald's most hated reporters, who was sitting in the front passenger seat.

"I don't know." said Spender, "Dr. Heinkel, give me the map please."

The doctor slapped it into his outstretched palm, "Take zit. I am not understanding zis country's silliness." 

Spender unfolded it on his lap. He turned it 90 degrees left. He turned it 180 degrees right. He turned it upside down, and then realised what was the problem.

"Dr. Heinkel," he began, folding the map carefully, "did I not ask you to get a map of this country?"

"Ja, you, Herr Spender, did ask of zat."

"Why'd you pick up a map of China? This is a flaming A-Z of Beijing, you stupid Jerry berk!"

"Ve are not in China?" asked Dr. Heinkel.

Spender wound down his window and tossed the map out. It disappeared into the darkness. Proceeding that he banged his head, slowly, carefully and loudly on the steering wheel.

"You're an idiot!" cried Adams leaning around his seat and waving his finger at the upset doctor.

"I am a doktor of ze Okkult! I am sorry about ze map being of ze wrong kind. I teach at ze Miskatonic University, not at ze posh 'let us all speak English well' Cambridge!"

There was a heady silence only interspersed by the dull pounding of temple to dashboard. "Wait a minute," said Burton, "we're in the Orient. Right?"

Spender ceased his headbanging. "Nice to see someone noticed." He went back to his task.

"Well, what about the," Burton whispered conspiratorially, "The Order of the Bloated Woman. Couldn't they have something to do with this?"

Everybody in the car stopped breathing. If only for a second. Somewhere in the distance, far away, the sound of a large plane droned. The dark somehow seemed more pervasive due to Burton's hushed words.

Adams grimaced. "Yeah. I heard about them. They cut off Investigator's… well… erm." He blushed.

"Goddamn it!" screamed Spender. "Stop worrying. We're investigating, not bloody raiding strongholds. The next house we get to, we stop and have a chat." 

"So." he said, "Which way's north then?" 

In Stockholm, Sweden, it was only just the break of dawn and in one of the large buildings that was sitting in its commercial district, a thought totally the opposite went through a number of people's heads. It was a big building, that looked very similar to some kind of hi-tech bank. Thirty-three floors of glass, concrete and metal. Around it, perhaps fifty yards in perimeter, a mesh fence had been situated, that to the naked eye would look nothing new. Neither would the handful of security guards who sat in the main gate's guard hut, or who leisurely meandered the fence interior. No one except those in the know would have guessed that these men, dressed in blue uniforms with their company's (TOFREE-ILLUMINATION & POWER) logo emblazed on it, were actually fanatical, zealous cultists with orders to kill. If you were to make it past these patrolling madmen and into the building, no small feat in itself, you wouldn't last much longer. Once past the normal foyer with the normal innocent looking secretary (actually a karate trained ninja assassin), you would find yourself inside a corridor with a pair of heavy machineguns cocked and primed and pointing at you.

Beyond that deadly bottleneck, it wouldn't get much easier. At every third junction security guards with MP5s stand silently, waiting. On the top floor, though, is the jewel of the crown. As you step out of the elevator you would find an artillery piece, its crew behind bullet proof glass, aimed at waist height. A single shell being enough to blow a tank to pieces, let alone a human being. After the crew check your pass, you'd be led by a pair of black clad woman along a corridor set with various offices, up to a large pair of oak doors. That is where the head sits. It's where dreams are smashed. Threads are weaved. The plotting of life is done and the twisted skein of reality is checked, double-checked and then casually spit-balled around the room in an obscene parody of humanity. This is the BOARDROOM.

Josef sat in the chair across from the desk and tried to keep his head hidden. On the television on a table a guard had wheeled in, Sweden's number one news channel was playing. "And in other news; CNN's latest satellite, Eris 1, was destroyed in a freak meteor shower." The anchorman smiled at the screen in mock sincerity. "Too bad CNN. Shame about the ratings."

Josef grabbed the remote control on the shiny desk surface and turned the television off. He stood up and bowed his head to the Man in the swivel chair on the other side of the desk. "I'm really sorry sir. I'll have the entire staff of Swede News 1 killed in a freak lightning strike."

The Man in the big swivel chair toyed idly with a Newton's Cradle before him.

"That was our most expensive Mind-Control satellite, sir," said Josef, the sweat standing out on his brow. He was little older than eighteen and although he looked at least a year younger, his once jet black hair was streaked with grey. Maybe from the stress of his work, but probably from something far worse. "Sir? Should I have the head of NASA crash his car into an oil tanker? Sir?"

The Man in the chair, shuffled about tiredly and let the little ball bearing drop.

PLINK

"Sir. I have a report from our agents in Colorado. Majestic-12 have got the latest information on the object's trajectory."

PLINK

Josef swallowed. A year in the service and never, _never_, before had he been ignored. It was rather unsettling to say the least.

PLINK 

"Tell MJ-12 to ignore it," said the Man. "Have the head of NASA sent to that radar station in Alaska and have the entire Swede News 1 station swallowed by a freak landslide." He placed his finger between two of the ball bearings on the cradle. The plinking noise stopped.

Josef breathed a sigh of relief. "Sir." He clicked his heels together smartly and strode for the door. The Man coughed loudly, and Josef felt an icy prickle at the back of his neck. He turned around again.

"Josef, my boy," said the Man, all the while scratching his nose. "Tell me why you're here."

"To see the continuation of the Cult, sir," cried the boy.

"Wrong, young Josef. You're waiting for the End. Aren't you?" The Man stared intently at a spot between the boy's eyes.

"Yes." muttered Josef.

"Take a look at this." The Man reached under his desk and pushed something. Behind him the entire wall rolled upwards to reveal the rising sun, and above that the stars. 

"What do you see, Josef?"

"The city," said Josef. 

The Man nodded. "And above the city," he asked.

"The sun," answered Josef.

"HIGHER YOU FOOL!"

The boy flushed and looked a little higher. "Stars," he said. "And some very bright stars in a wavy line."

The Man smiled, the scar running below and above his right eye lifting slightly. "Those are not stars Josef. That is the CNN satellite. _Our_ satellite. The 'Eris'." He waved his hand toward the glittering bits of debris. "They are reflecting the light from the sun. That's why they are so bright. Now, tell me, does it look familiar?" 

Josef shook his head. The Man held out a pocket mirror to the boy, who quickly took it. "Have a look."

Josef had a look. "I need a shave," he said solemnly.

"THE STARS, YOU IDIOT!"

"Yes, Sir."

The boy held the mirror up and stared at the debris, "It looks familiar… but… is it writing?"

"Look at it from upside down… NOT THE MIRROR YOU FOOL! THE WRITING!… That's better. See what it is now."

The mirror landed with the barest of thuds on the carpeted floor. Josef's hand clenched and unclenched convulsively. "It's ancient Arabic." he said uncertainly, "It's ancient words."

"Quite right. What does it say?"

"It says, 'I'm right.' Is that correct, sir? My Arabic's a bit rusty." Josef already knew he was right, though. He needed no approval.

The Man smiled. A shark like, toothy grin. "The stars say they're right. THE STARS ARE RIGHT." The Man did a sort of sitting down jig and clapped his hands together. "Bring me the Heads of Departments. All of them, but don't tell them why."

Josef nodded and once again strode purposefully through the doorway. Their solid oak closed heavily behind him.

"Yes. Thirty years unto the end." said the Man taking in the spectacle. "Yes, the time is near." He stood up, grabbing his walking stick from under the desk and carefully tottered closer to the window. He was laughing now, hard and heavy. Maniacal. 

"MWAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! CTHULHU YOU ARE NO MORE!!! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!"

"Are you okay, sir? I heard insane laughter." Josef peered around the door.

"GET OUT!" 

Josef nearly dodged the paperweight. Nearly.

Tenchi opened the door. Unwise as it was, he did it. Although the complete stupidity of his actions were lost to him, it must be known that someone felt the strange otherworldly feeling of dread. Unfortunately it was one, Kishumu Oifko, of the Juraian Battleship 'Jus-di Tylla' that was doing its rounds of the Manjari sector at that time. One minute he was sitting there drinking Juraian Tea with the ship's captain, the next he was writhing on the floor, spewing half his stomach contents across his superior's shoes. It didn't improve his promotion chances a jot.

Tenchi opened the door. Tenchi opened the door. Tenchi opened the door. Three universes opened the door. 

In the first, a man stands there. Hair mussed, pencil-moustache ruffled. Eyes blinking like a lizards. He grabs Tenchi and drags him close. "You have to help me," he whispers, "I have to help you."

In the second, no-one stands there. Fire rages, the sky is alight. Overhead, fighter planes dance in weaving spirals. Their plumes of vapour tying knots in the sky. In the distance gunfire can be heard. He takes one look, sighs, and closes the door.

The final door. The hand closes on the handle. It opens.

"Yes?" asks Tenchi, surveying the men who stand there. The three men smile, the fourth tilts his fedora cheerfully. The closest man nods, "Hello, my name's Charles Spender and we-"

"Ve are from ze Vest," says a tufty haired old gentleman carrying a leather briefcase.

"Yes, we are," smiles Spender, the subtle hint of menace lurking behind it. "We're from the West-_ern_ Society for the Understanding and Study of Preternatural Phenomena." He extended his hand.

Tenchi shook it, noticing the way the people tugged nervously at the bags they were carrying. A handsome young-ish looking man with a press badge attached to his lapel hefted a golf bag across one shoulder. Another man, no shorter than 6'2 and ruggedly scarred, carried a heavy suitcase with casual ease. The man he was shaking hands with carried nothing but a sickly smile. "It's late. Is something the matter?"

"It's strange you should say that," said Spender wiping his hand on his trousers. "You see, we've been stopping at various houses in the area. Asking questions about recent events. We're investigating alien activity, 'spooky' stuff, its ilk. Understand? Anyhow, there's been a lot of talk about this area and UFOs. So… can we come in?"

"There's NO ALIENS in here," stated Tenchi. "I don't know why'd you think there'd be ALIENS IN MY HOUSE."

In the living room the occupants glanced at each other. Ryoko phased through the wall into the kitchen. Ayeka and Kiyone sat at the table silently. Mihoshi snored.

"We didn't believe there was any aliens here-" Spender said.

"I did," muttered Adams.

"-But we would like to ask some questions." He smiled again in that most shark-like manner, and then suddenly raised his arms and hopped about on one leg like an old man whose bunions are playing up. "L'SKOEA R'LYEH!" he wailed.

Tenchi took a step backwards, "Gusendheit?"

The group of men nodded at each other. Tenchi opened the door wider and beckoned them in.

"Question One: What is your name?"

"Tenchi Masaki." said Tenchi.

Spender noted that down on his clipboard. They were sitting around the living room table. Ayeka and Kiyone stood back a little bit further toward the kitchen. Maybe it was something to do with Adams lustfully intent staring. On the other hand it might be they liked the kitchen door.

Somehow that didn't seem right to Spender.

"Question Two: Sexual Orientation?"

"Hetero," said Ayeka firmly. Tenchi nodded, albeit jerkily.

"Good... Question Three: Any mental difficulties in you or your family?"

"No."

Kiyone smiled. "Unless you count lechery."

Spender eyed the teenage boy calmly. "My father," it squeaked.

"Question Four: Have you ever seen an alien or other supernatural or extra-natural creature? As in a creature that appeared human but could… fire bolts of energy from its palms. Float. Teleport. Communicate telepathically with another. Hell, make little logs appear from thin air! It's farfetched I know, but, have you?"

"Well... er… not really," blushed Tenchi.   
"He means 'No'." said Kiyone.

Ayeka was getting annoyed. These men had barged in and now were asking the most personal, if strangely pertinent, questions. Not to mention the man with the golf bag kept trying to catch her eye. She shot daggers at him, but all he did was wink. Once again she went back to listening.

"Question Seven: If I said 'Ithaqua is here' what would you say?"

"I don't really know."

"Well, it is a multiple choice question..." Spender steepled his fingers and clicked his tongue. "The first choice is jump about and yell YIPEE!. The second choice is hide."

"I wouldn't do either. I don't know what an Ithaqua is."

Spender tossed the pen over his shoulder and put on his best scowl. It was sort of a cross between Gene Hackman's angry face and Brad Pitt's mildly bemused face. "I'm going to be honest with you, Mr. Masaki. You are a cultist, and I know this from the evidence that you are so carefully hiding." 

Tenchi stood up, the chair falling behind him. "I don't understand."

"You have been blatantly abusing my questions that are there to determine your guilt. You keep on circumventing Question Seven!"

"But I don't know what an Ithaqua is?!?" cried Tenchi. The two women behind him stared on.

Spender raised his eyes. "Well of course you wouldn't admit to knowing it. If you answered to any one of the two choices you'd be instantly proven guilty."

"SEE!"

"And you have a dead woman on your sofa," hissed Spender.

Tenchi pointed at Mihoshi. "She's breathing! She's asleep!"

"Burton, is that woman on the sofa dead?"

"Probably," said Burton picking at his teeth.

"Good enough for me," said Spender. "Now, Mr. Masaki. Would you care to accompany me to the nearest Church or holy site so that I can brutally kill you and then burn your corpse?"

The men, still carrying their bags, walked forward. Dr. Heinkel pulled a pair of handcuffs from a trouser pocket.

Ayeka threw herself in front of Tenchi. "He's not a cultist. He doesn't know anything! WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?"

The men stopped. "He isn't a cultist?" asked Adams.

"Of course he's not. Just because you've got some idiot questions means nothing," said Kiyone, stepping up beside Ayeka. 

Spender and his troupe stood glumly. "Well." He looked at Tenchi. "Very sorry. We get a bit caught up in… well y'know." Dr. Heinkel tipped his hat.

"Sure you aren't a cultist?" quizzed Burton.

"No," said Ayeka. "He isn't."

There was a very long pause. "Well," said Spender again. "Do you need any exorcisms? Anything like that?"

"No."

"Shoggoth shooting?"

"NO."

"We do a nice line in normal investigation; 'Messy divorces a specialty'. Need any lost cats found?" 

"NO!" screamed Ayeka and Kiyone in unison. 

"Right. We'll go then. No need to show us out." Spender jerked his thumb back at the corridor and smiled an embarrassed smile. The group swiftly turned on its heels and made a beeline for the front door.

Situations could have been different if the next event didn't occur but, unfortunately, it did. There was very little chance of it not happening, because with Tenchi and Spenders' lives bordering on the highly improbable, it could be said that it would be very unlikely that it _wouldn't_ happen. That is, if someone were to write out the whole sorry story on paper, or perhaps in some other form, it would seem like a pretty contrived and poorly thought out excuse to get everything running. 

The plot point that would hang itself. The reverse Deus Ex Machina.

But of course this is real and so anything that happens isn't some contrived and barely functioning plot point, but rather is a true turning point in a very real story. 

But why do these situations keep on cropping up? Is it because Earth is one giant improbability machine or is it something far more sinister?

It has oft been wondered among the same scientific community that deduced 'Backwards Genes' and 'Why Radioactive Waste Always Makes Monsters Theory', how come Japan is like a big magnet for freaky temporal anomalies or alien incursions. From orbit does Japan have a big sign saying, "Aliens land here!"

The answer is 'yes'. It's also 'no'. Yet at the same time it is also 'sort of'. 

Although it may appear this way, every country (bar Colorado. Yes it is a country. You'll find out why soon enough) has its own reason for being involved in various strangeness. Britain has always been under attack or involved in strange activities, War of the Worlds and Dr. Who being the most obvious. America has always been there to see conspiracies and alien visitations, while France has always been… well, strange.

Colorado in particular has borne the brunt of conspiracy theories for years. Why were the Rocky Mountains bought by Rockefeller? Why are certain sections of said mountains closed and guarded by government forces that wear no insignia? Why is it so bloody snowy? All of them rhetorical questions, never to be answered.

Ryoko opened the kitchen door and sauntered into the living room. She looked at the investigators. They looked at her.

"Oh," she said evenly. "I thought you'd gone." 

Oh God, thought Spender, here comes trouble. He pulled his collar up and waited for the fireworks.

Dr. Heinkel smiled warmly and tipped his hat yet again. Burton cracked a huge smile and hid the suitcase behind his back. Adams just stood there mouth open, tongue lolling.

"Ryoko, is this entrance truly necessary?" whispered Ayeka trying to keep in front of Tenchi _and_ shuffle toward Ryoko.

"Anything for the crowd," the pirate quipped. She turned toward Adams, who was doing his best not to drool.

"Have a problem?" she asked.

Adams shook his head and took a tentative step forward. "Oh no, madam." He held out his hand. "Adam Adams from the London Herald."

Ryoko stared at the outstretched extremity and wondered whether to cut it off.

"Adam, I think we should go," said Spender into the other man's ear. "We don't want to annoy the people do we?"

"You have lovely eyes," Adams crooned. "Such lovely, feline, eyes." His golf bag dragged the floor. "I love that dress you aren't wearing."

"Oh spit," said Spender.

"And your teeth. And your ears. Pointed… ears. Pointed teeth." He slowed down and blinked. "Hang on, that isn't right."

"What the hell do you mean, 'isn't right'?" Ryoko's fists clenched.

"Okaaaay. She's a… cat," said Adams. He turned back to Spender. "That I wasn't expecting."

"IT'S BASTET!" screamed Spender.

"What did you call me!" screamed back Ryoko.

Spender was pointing and jumping up and down. "I TOLD YOU! I SAID WE'D GET SOMEWHERE! IT'S BASTET!"

Ryoko stood, shaking from head to toe. "You called me Bastet. I don't care what that is. You... Will... Die." She raised her hand and brought it down, her energy blade forming before her arm was at her side.

"Boys. We got her covered," laughed Spender. The other men beamed happily at each other.

Then they drew.

The golf bag hadn't hit the floor before the shotgun was in Adams hands. He pumped the action and aimed. Behind him Burton was ripping through the suitcase and dragging out an M16 assault rifle. Dr. Heinkel was hefting a huge leather-bound book which had come from his briefcase. The cover had a very big and very occult-looking pentagram on it.

Spender had the pistols in his hands, John Woo-style. Two pistol blood-soaked shooter of Doom. He cocked them and pointed them at Ryoko's head. "Bastet the Cat Goddess. So, we meet at last."

Ryoko grinned. "You think those things will stop me."

Spender just shrugged. "Don't do this, please!" cried Tenchi from behind one of the sofas.

"Yes. She's the evil cat Goddess, Bastet! Shoot her now!" cried Ayeka happily.

Kiyone popped her head up from behind the sofa. "Ayeka. Do you have to?"

"She was holding us against our will!" cried Ayeka again, grabbing Spender by the arm. "Shoot her. Quickly!"

"Wait! Wait!" Tenchi was standing up now, arms held high, "She isn't Bastast."

"Bastet," said Burton.

"Prove it," said Spender.

Kiyone stood up. "What can this Bastet person do? Can she call up swords?"

Spender thought about this. "No."

Police psychology. Now this was something Kiyone could use to her advantage. It never worked on criminals because they were too stupid to understand. But these people…

"What can she do then?"

"Well," thought Spender aloud, "she can kill people. And she can go places. Oh, and she can call cats to her aid." He nodded at a job well done.

"Most people can kill people," Kiyone started, "And lots of people can go places. And I don't see any cats around, do you?"

"No," said Spender. Then he pointed at the stairs and began to scream. Everyone opened fire.

- - - - - - - - - -

Tenchi:- Where's Washu? She's never around when you need her.

Washu:- I've been here. I've just been bus- Who's this?

Adams:- Hi kid. What you doing in this story?

Tenchi:- She's the scientist.

Adams:- Huh? What do you mean 'She's the scientist'? Cobblers!

Washu:- Do you know what it's like to have a plant pot fall on your head from a great height?

Adams:- Yeah, whatever you say little girl. Anyway tune in next episode. This kid's in it. And I'm in it. What more could you ask for?

Spender:- Sick bags.

Burton:- More guns.

Ayeka:- A meaningful plot, interesting characterisation-

Ryoko:- Less Ayeka.

Kiyone:- Mihoshi's severed head.

Mihoshi:- Yes, my sev- HEY! That's not nice Kiyone.

Dr. Heinkel:- Speaking partz for me, I am but a little doktor, and I iz very poorly.

Sasami:- What's that thing with the claws?

Spender:- Bugger.

- - - - - - - - - -

COMING NEXT EPISODE:-

What will become of those in the Masaki household? Will amends be made? What does TOFREE-ILLUMINATION & POWER have to do with all this? This chapter is meaningless. I'm very sorry. Stay tuned for episode 3. Washu's in it. I mean it.

- - - - - - - - - -

The Call of Cthulhu RPG (on which this is based) is the property of Chaosium Inc. Tenchi Muyo is the sole responsibility of the company known as Pioneer. Many characters and ideas are also based on Pagan Publishing's excellent supplement 'Delta Green', and it also has to be said that many Mythos monsters/characters are not from H.P Lovecraft but from other just as able writers. If I knew your names, guys, I'd write them but until I remember who from who… I'll just not take any niceties from people. The Guide to being a Cultist is from RPG.net. I couldn't find the original author. Everything else is mine. Got it. I hope so.


	3. The Thing from the Bowels

The ultimate, and unfortunately rather terminal, death of the world is now in the taking. The wheels begin their slow turning. The Spinning Jenny of Time begins to weave the skein of reality itself. Nothing can stand against it now. No one. Except maybe… no. That's just too silly. I expect we're just going to have to die a horrible death. Ho-hum. Well at least Washu's in this one. That should keep the punters happy.

Chapter 3! It should be moderately interesting, but isn't. Of course that depends on your idea of interesting.

Now I sit, typing up an introduction to a story. What's it about? Cthulhu, some elderly god and his minions of Elvira.

Oh. Cthulhu the ELDER god and his minions of EVIL. Sorry. What can I say? Apart from poor old you, at least.

- - - - - - - - - -

CHAPTER II ( Redux ):-  
The Cat Goddess. That Wasn't.

"He who fights monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster...when you gaze long into the abyss,   
the abyss also gazes into you..."  
-Friedrich Nietsche; The Big Bumper Book of Quotes

In the Old Bailey the jurors sit in silent contemplation as Police Constable 23 is sworn in. "Do you plead the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?" asks the bailiff.  
"I do," says P.C 23.  
The bailiff steps away, and the prosecution rises. "Constable Roberts, is it true you were the first at the scene of the crime?"  
P.C 23 nods. "That's true," he says, holding his helmet under his elbow. He licks his dry lips and runs his hand through his hair.  
"Can you tell what you saw when you arrived at the farmhouse? In detail, please."

The sweat begins to trickle under his chin, catching on the stubble. The constable clears his throat and tries to speak. Nothing comes out.

"In your own time, Constable," coaxes the prosecutor.

"IT'S ALRIGHT FOR YOU!" screams Constable 23, pointing wildly, "YOU DIDN'T SEE IT! YOU DIDN'T SEE HIM!" He grabs his notebook from his pocket and throws it at the defendant in the box. "HE DID IT! HE CALLED IT! YOU DIDN'T WATCH DAVE DIE!"

( And in a caravan outside Paris two men share a cigarette before slitting their throats. A crimson spray. )

Detroit sat beneath its full moon, silent, reproachful. Evil. Above it the stars of Eris 1 glitter wildly. A hundred men watch them quietly, praying to a life that should not be. Across the world the mad and the foolish perceive the sky with a new meaning.

Ryo-ohki was not a stupid animal. For a cat-rabbit mishmash she was actually rather intelligent, though not up to Einstein standards. When the people arrived downstairs she knew what they wanted. When the shouting started she'd stayed by Sasami, keeping her company while the raised voices drifted up the stairs. For a cabbit she was clever.

She licked Sasami's forehead, trying to temper her. The little girl was lying in her futon, blanket pulled up, eyes wide, listening to the noises from downstairs.

"BASTET!" came a hollow voice from beneath her.

Ryo-Ohki loped toward the door, and phased through it on the second jump. She was clever enough to realise the noise was annoying her friend. What a clever cabbit.

She bounded along the corridor toward the stairs. She set off down them, taking two steps a leap at a time. When she hit the mid step she stopped. Now she could see the living room. Kiyone and Tenchi were standing behind the sofas, upon one of which Mihoshi was still sleeping. Tenchi holding his hands above his head. Ryo-ohki wondered why. In the middle of the room, between the sofas and the table, was her mistress. Sword in hand she stood there like… like… well, Ryo-ohki's mind wasn't a simile machine so the only comparison she could make was 'Sword in hand like a homicidal maniac'. Which is befitting. Ryoko was waving her blade at a group of men by the door to the hall. They were all holding guns. That, to Ryo-ohki, was bad. Ayeka was hanging on to one of the men's arms.

Kiyone began to speak: "Most people can kill people, and lots of people can go places. And I don't see any cats around, do you?"

"No," said the youngest of the men by the exit. He was holding two little guns and had Ayeka attached to his elbow. Ryo-ohki hopped the last few steps to the bottom of the stairs. The cabbit may be clever, but she certainly wasn't _that_ clever.

Spender cradled the pistols and tried to shake the woman off his arm. She was good looking but it really was quite unsettling. Nothing of this sort had happened before. There was some woman behind a settee spouting psychological rubbish and a corpse lying on the cushions before her. There was a mad cultist waving his arms about, and then there was the piece de resistance, Bastet the Cat Goddess, standing before him with a maniac grin and a bloody big sword. It wasn't his normal idea about how meeting a god would go, but it was better than nothing. Something by the corner of the stairs caught his eye.

Ryo-ohki stopped at the bottom of the stairs and stared at Spender with sad little eyes.

'Oh, a cat' said Spender's rational side. 'Looks like one' replied his memory, to which his common sense did a double take, picked himself from the dirt of the subconscious and screamed, 'CAT!'

It would be a pathetic attempt to try and explain what happened next. It was little more than a brawl without the knuckle-dusters. A series of jumbled events, that would probably have been unnecessary to catalogue if it didn't lead to the most nerve janglingly grand finales ever written.

Because of the large amount of duress and trauma that can be placed on the shoulders of young children and those that seek happy, fluffy lyric, I will tell you now. No one is hurt in the remainder of this chapter. Well, no one of any importance to the continuation of the story at least. It's a bit like the A-Team really, but with a better story, budget, characterisation and idea. It's also real. Did I tell you that before? Anyway…

Spender pointed at the cabbit at the bottom of the steps. Two barrels glared at Ryo-ohki. He was screaming, and at the first sign of this Ayeka let go and ducked for the cover of the table.

25 year old English dilettante, Charles Spender, investigator and millionaire, opened fire with .45 jacket hollow point bullets at Ryo-ohki. The little cabbit did a foot high jump and hoofed it toward the patio windows. Shards of glass exploded outwards as Burton's rifle picked up the pace.

Kiyone dove toward Tenchi, pushing him over and landing on top him. Above her a stream of tracer dug into, and quite probably through, the thin wall of the house. She looked at the boy beneath her and smiled belatedly, "Call of duty."

Adams slammed the pump down and raised the shotgun again. He was too caught up in the excitement to realise that Spender's quarry was already bounding away toward the lake. A rain of glass smothered the sofas and Mihoshi woke up to find a collection of bullet holes a few inches above her in the settee back. She rolled off the seat and crawled behind the back of the sofa.

There was a loud bang as the TV imploded from a misjudged pellet ricochet.

Dr. Heinkel was standing amongst the hanging cordite and grime, waving his hand mysteriously and muttering strange sentences from the book in his other hand.

"STOP SHOOTING! STOP SHOOTING!" shouted Spender, lowering his guns. Adams followed suit swinging the shotgun across his shoulder. Burton unloaded the rest of his M-16 clip into the kitchen door and then did as he was told.

"Bit of a mess, isn't it?" asked Adams to no one in particular, as he looked at the debris.

"Did we shoot anything?" asked Burton glancing at the bullet holes that littered everything.

There was a loud sigh from behind a sofa. "Take a guess," said a female voice harshly.

"Enough of your lip!" snapped Spender. "Did anyone shoot that cat or that woman?"

There were a few shrugs. Dr. Heinkel's hand glowed a fabulous green. "Liber ex-mortis cocumbriasi!" he pushed the extremity toward the far end of the room. One of the sofa's cushions burst into flame.

"What part of 'stop' don't you understand?" Spender cried, rounding on the Doktor.

"Vhat?"

"Take those earplugs out! Just because you can't stand bullets…" snapped Adams. The German looked at him. "Vat did you say? I can't hear nothing, I hev ze earplugs in."

Adams pumped the action of his shotgun again and smiled broadly. "You think we killed her?" He did a half circle, watching the doors with complacency.

"Can we come out?" whined Tenchi from beneath Kiyone. Spender took a few steps toward the hiding place. "Where's Bastet gone?" he asked all the while slipping new clips into his pistols. 

"Here," said a voice above him.

He looked up.

Ryoko stared down at him from the ceiling, hate in her eyes. Her head and shoulders phased through it, she was still holding the sword. Spender sat down on the sofa and cocked the pistols. "Going to come quietly?" he asked.

Very slowly, Ryoko lowered herself to the floor. That evil smile we all know and love played across her lips. "What if I said no?" she retorted, putting away the blade. Her clothes ruffled revealingly as she landed, granting a loud swallowing from Adams.

Spender stood up and put the automatics back in their holsters under his jacket. "If that were the case I'd have to fight you one on one. Mano a mano. Well, mano a womano-goddesso. Or suchwhat." He smiled smugly and went into a boxing stance. "I'll even let you go first."

Ryoko threw a punch at the wall near her. The hole she left was about the size of a garbage can lid. "So what?" said Spender. "You can punch. Now I'll show you a real punch."

He lunged.

Everybody in the room winced. Even Ryoko.

Spender just stood there, Ryoko's foot still connected to his groin. "You win," he squeaked. "But best two out of three."

* * * *

INFO INSERT II:-  
Drop the Necronomicon and put your tentacles on your head  


  


"The distance between insanity and genius is measured only by success."  
–James Bond; Tomorrow Never Dies  


It is a sad and sorry state of events that occultism is no longer taught in public schools. Of course it would upset the moral majority and put the noses of your average religious groups out of joint, but we should all know what we're up against here. It's not as though education about handling bank accounts or Inland Revenue is actively encouraged, so how are children supposed to _learn_?

Yes, a terrifying word there. LEARN. Never has a single word brought such fear to the masses. Believe you me.

The Necronomicon is the most well known, least well known and probably most owned ( yet not owned ) book in the known Universe. For sheer staying power, it leaves the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy chewing dust, and makes the 'Story of the Unknown Universe' by Dr. Lusiua Kyne of the Galaxy University look like a collection of ramblings from an illiterate two year old.

The Necronomicon is also useful in that, in dire emergencies, its pages can be used as impromptu bog paper. Try beating that with your electronic 'Guide to the Galaxy'.

Only a handful of the Necronomicons still exist. Each is written in Latin and is in various stages of disrepair. One resides at the infamous Miskatonic University ( well you try learning there ), another lives at the London Museum, a third resides in Paris and a fourth ekes its existence out in a special room in some South American country's library. Some are rumoured to be owned by various people in personal collections, which is probably true.

Why is the Necronomicon such a mind-bogglingly, crap-log inducing fear inspiring book of absolute evil? Why, it's because it's just that. It is a book that tells the truth, so honestly, so hideously, so… evilly, that it can turn even the most cast iron sanity into warm jelly. Never before or since has a book explained everything with such clear clarity that it runs a cheese-grater across the soul, leaving the reader feeling rather stupid and in most cases, insane.

The original book was the Al-Azif, written by the mad monk, Abdul Al-hazred ( real name being Abd Al-hazred, obviously ) who was savagely, brutally and fatally killed by an invisible thing while in the middle of a crowded Arab market. The book soon passed into lore and was rewritten as the 'Necronomicon', being translated into many languages. Latin being the most popular, due to it being so hard to learn that those who can read it usually have enough sanity to survive the first few pages. The entire history of the Blasphemous book is long, overwrought and ultimately as deadening on the nerves as a seminar on Edgar Allan Poe's poetry.

That's a shame because otherwise I would have put the entire thing down for you, but then if I was to write _everything _I know about the book you'd all be sodden burbling cabbages. Any difference there then?

* * * *

CHAPTER III:-  
The Thing from the Bowels of Hell's Bowels

"Me: Why the deuce are you out there at midnight? Remember! 'Investigation in the morning is safe and boring, investigation at night is monster's delight!'  
Him: Well, uh, I dunno, night-time just seemed like the best time for us to sneak around. You know, breaking and entering for clues.  
I rolled my eyes. And they wonder why one of them dies every time they step out of their hotel rooms! "  
-The Ideal Investigation; Greg Mohler

Spender collapsed in a heap on the floor. His eyes watering uncontrollably, teeth digging into his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Ryoko stood over him, her cat-like eyes lit up in ferocious pleasure. Ayeka had crawled her way from under the table and was standing next to the still deaf Dr. Heinkel. "Ryoko, don't," she said, dusting herself down.

The space pirate grinned and gave a sidelong glance at the princess. "Why? Do you like him? I saw you hanging on his arm..."

"No," said Ayeka, "I want a go." There was a crackle of static and a dozen tiny logs materialised a few yards around her.

Burton, Adams and the good German doctor huddled in the corner as far from the other people in the room as they could. Two barrels scanned the room from their little cubby-hole.

Holding his nether-regions, Spender sat up and glared at the other Investigators with contempt. "Bunch of layabouts," he spat. "Conniving two bit thugs. That's the last time I work with you lot."

"It's the last time you'll be working, period." said Ryoko. Her sword was back in hand, and it was waving in the most dangerous manner. "Actually," she continued thoughtfully, "It's the last time you'll be breathing." She raised the sword.

Then she stared down the glinting barrel of Spender's pistol.

He squeezed the trigger.

He loosened his grip on the trigger.

One second he was aiming a bullet at the point where the Cat Goddess' heart was, the next he was aiming at the heart of the insane, arm waving cultist, also known as, Tenchi Masaki.

The cultist boy looked down at him, using his own body as a human shield. "Get out of the way," moaned Spender. "Just because I'm the goody doesn't mean I won't shoot through you."

He tightened his grip on the trigger again. Then stopped. "Give me one good reason why not," he said, looking up.

This wasn't what Tenchi was actively hoping for. When the guy in the films put himself between the gun and the target, the bad guy _never_ fired. They didn't stop to ask for one reason. He grinned uncontrollably and looked for some support. Ayeka was too busy keeping the men in the corner exactly where they should be. As if on cue, Adams squealed as a spark shot from one of the Juraian logs and crackled along the stock of his shotgun.

Tenchi looked at Kiyone and Mihoshi, who were still standing behind the sofas. Kiyone shrugged sadly.

"Tell them the truth, Tenchi," said Sasami from the top of the stairs.

"Sasami!" snapped Ayeka, turning toward the voice, "I said bed!"

Nodding to himself, Tenchi opened his mouth, "She isn't Bastet." He fiddled with his collar nervously. "She's… one of those aliens… on the questionnaire."

"An alien," said Spender. "And her?" He nodded toward Ayeka.

"And her."

The pistol's trigger clicked as Spender removed his finger and smiled warmly. "Well why didn't you say so? Help me up would you?"

The bailiff hands the notebook back to the policeman. "Feel better, sir?"

"Much better. Thanks," says P.C 23 wiping the dried vomit from around his mouth with a damp tissue.

"The way you started throwing up," The bailiff smiles painfully. "Then when you hit me…"

"I'm sorry," replies P.C 23 sadly. He stands and walks back towards the courtroom, and the charade begins again. Swearing in, evidence asked of.

Evidence given.

"I was driving for the farmhouse when I heard the sound of screaming. Dave, er, Constable Nichols I mean, he was in the passenger seat. As we neared the house the car windscreen shattered inwards…"

( A crash and the slivers slash my cheek, I spin the wheel already feeling the breath on my cheek. And the blood. Dave? No, DAVE! )

"OBJECTION!" screams the defendant in the dock. Two uniformed men drag him back down.

"SILENCE! SILENCE IN MY COURT!" The Judge bangs the gavel. His white wig leaps like an anaemic octopus.

The officer was torn limb from limb all the while awake, relates the coroner. He points at the big board with his laser pen; while very far away in Australia a team of potholers begin their last underground journey.

"Messenger of Fear in sight / Dark deception kills the light / Hybrid children watch the sea / Pray for Father, roaming free" sang James Hetfield on Josef's walkman. He stood at the back of the room, silently watching over the proceedings. The Meeting Room was so very rarely used these days. It had taken him and fifty men a good half hour to get the cobwebs from the corners and dust down the beautifully engraved table.

The tableau of the man being skinned was particularly awe-inspiring.

Twenty-two men and woman sat around the table ( the twenty-third had a cold and couldn't make it ) each seated by rank. At the head was The Man and leading down the table were the various others. In times of old it was the custom for every Head to be given a name depending on his or her patronage, tutelage or skills. That had been abandoned and now, so as to stop people forgetting who everyone else was, little nameplates were set out before each seat. Josef had put little quotes and witty ditties under each of the names so that there respective owners could take them home and re-use them.

Josef didn't like waste.

A man with a double-breasted suit and ruddy face, sitting thirteen down from the head seat started the meeting.

"Communism is the hard path between Capitalism and Capitalism," he read aloud from his nameplate. " Yep. Never a truer word spoken."

A few of the more liberal conspirators scowled lightly.

"I think we should start this meeting officially," said a woman who's name was Roxanne Tinkers ( 'Don't Get Mad, Get Coffee' on her nameplate. ) "With the reason for us being called here, don't you Commissar Vladistock?"

"It wasn't to do with me, Comrade Tinker," replied the Russian.

On Josef's headphones the next song began. "Sleep my friend and you will see / That dream is my reality / keep me locked up in this cage / Can't they see it's why my brain says rage?" He smiled.

The Man in his chair steepled his fingers and leant forward. Everyone down the table leant back. "Mr. Drubai, tell me about Project Umbrella."

Mr. Drubai ( The Rain in Spain Never Falls Unless You're There ) gulped and hefted a heavy folder from under his seat. It was labelled with a big All Seeing Eye. He rifled through it and dragged out a clump of unkempt papers. "Let me see. Let me see." He smeared them across his part of the desk and pulled a sheaf with a large red stamp from them. "Operation Residential Chaos, that's the side project, is doing well. We have at least three new DNA strands classified and named."

"And what of Project Umbrella?"

"Aha, well , we did have a slight problem you see." Drubai gulped again. "Figuratively speaking of course. One of the laboratory assistants at our research post in Alabama, well, he opened the wrong flask. We've been hunting what's left of him for the last three weeks. He just won't die, sir. It's really quite annoying, I'm sure you'll agree?"

The Man stared at him.

"Anyway, Tactical-Teams are in position. I got Navy Seals this time. They're a lot quieter than Green Berets. After that incident at our Waco facility, we wouldn't want a lot of noise would we?" He laughed nervously. No-one else moved, "We should have results in… oh… I'd say, six to ten hours. My Master. Sir. Please don't kill me."

The Man turned to a wizened Chinaman with a foot long goatee. "Mr. Chin-Long, what's this I hear about budget on our atomic weapon capabilities?"

"Tha's not me, sir. Tha's Miss Chong."

"I'm so sorry." The Man turned to a Miss Chong, a petite Chinese woman, who was trying to look inconspicuous at the far end of the table. "Miss Chong, perhaps you can explain the lack of budget on our nuclear spending?"

"N-n-no. I mean… It's nothing to do with… me… an-"

The man shook his head sadly, "This has nothing to do with that Swiss Bank Account you opened?"

"N-n-no. I-"

She made a piglet like squeal as a bespectacled gentleman sitting next to her drew a stiletto from his cuff and jammed it into her throat.

There was a spray of blood. A handful of those caught in the jet sat there silently, the rest took out their kerchiefs and wiped themselves down.

"Now, on to happier news…" crowed the Man.

Josef closed his eyes and concentrated on the music. That always took his mind off the blood.

So across the world in the country of Japan, which is near Indonesia. In a small house near the mighty Great Seto Bridge, which is now sadly quite defunct except to automobiles, a band of heroes like never before sit around a table and have a chat.

Spender, Adams, Burton and Dr. Heinkel were all sitting around the table cross-legged. Tenchi was following suit and draped across the various bullet logged seats of the living room sat Ryoko, Ayeka and the two GP officers. Sasami stood at Tenchi's side, watching the Western men with a mix of trepidation and interest.

Tenchi took a sip of his green-tea. "That's the story. Everything." He looked at the girls.

"So," said Spender, "you're telling me that every woman here is an alien in disguise."

"Not in disguise. We're like this normally." Sasami smiled.

"Yeah sure kid," said Adams, trying to grasp everything. "You're a princess. And the purple haired girl is your sister."

Sasami nodded. Adams continued, "The one who tried to kill us is a pirate."

"Don't even mention me," huffed Ryoko, lounging on the sofa's arm.

"Finally, the two rather fetching ladies at the back are Space Police."

Mihoshi waved and Kiyone nodded curtly.

"So who's the scientist?" asked Burton. Tenchi put down his tea. "She's in her lab at the moment."

"Upstairs?"

"Under the stairs."

The investigators looked at the door leading to the stair's cupboard. "You're insane. You really are quite mad," said Spender. "I have never met a nut as eloquently barmy as you. Believe me I've met a few, but you certainly take first prize for being stark-raving bonkers. Do you, by any chance, own a strait-jacket compliments of the local Looney bin?" He stood up.

"I fear we may have to leave, Mr Masaki, and quite frankly, I'm rather chuffed."

The other inhabitants of the room ran this through their minds.

"Would you like some tea before you go?" asked Sasami.

Everyone in the room rolled their eyes.

Spender looked at her. "Go on then. What have you got? Earl Grey? Typhoo? Tetley's?"

The little princess shook her head. "We have some green-tea."

"Green-tea," said Spender. "Is that what Tenchi's drinking?" The girl nodded. "I'll have to say 'no' then. However I wouldn't mind some water." He thought about this. "On second thoughts, I've never much fancied mercury poisoning. I'll go thirsty, thank you."

"I'm fine," said Adams.

"Ditto," replied Burton.

"I," said Dr. Heinkel, "Vould love to try zome of your lovely Chinese Herbal Medicine I zo often hear about."

"We're in Japan," hissed Spender.

The Doctor looked pained. "Vhy did you not tell me?!? I am in JAPAN! Ze country that left Germany to fend for itzelf!" He crossed his arms and stared darkly at the ceiling.

"What is that you do?" asked Ayeka, curiosity getting the better of her.

"Why," cried Spender, "we are the last true bastions that keep Earth safe from monsters and aliens! ( Present company excluded o' course ) We investigate the strange, the abnormal, the potentially weird."

"And then you catalogue it?"

"THEN WE KILL IT!" yelled Burton standing up. "BANG! BANG! BANG! Another monstrosity dead as a beat-cop in the Bronx after eight o'clock!"

There was a general raising of eyebrows. "Thank you Mr. NRA," said Spender sarcastically. He stood up and went into his most speech worthy stance.

"Many, many years ago, before the very dawn of time rememberable. Before the dinosaurs. Before even the beginning of that beginning. There were the Great Old Ones. They came to Earth thousands of millions of years ago, and engaged in fierce battle for this world with the creatures that were here."

"You said it was before the dinosaurs," said Tenchi.

"That does not negate the fact that there were creatures before them. Anyway, they fought and fought and fought and fought. But they weren't stupid. They knew when to make peace, and one day, the most powerful of them all, Cthulhu, made peace with the other races. He and his people all lived on a bit of what was to become the orient. Except, as bits of rock do, it broke off and sailed away into what became the Pacific, where it sank."

Ryoko stopped huffing and looked at Spender. "And this thing drowned? Nice story."

"No, he didn't drown. He was trapped with his race on the island. In a big city called R'leyh. Anyway to cut a long story short, all the other Great Old Ones, there were a lot, were banished, or trapped in various places, or left to wander free. I mean, I don't understand all of it but that's mostly it."

"What a load of crap," said Ryoko.

"DO NOT INSULT THE STORY!" yelled Adams, jumping up. "That story is what has kept us alive these long years."

There was a general, "Huh?"

"Have you ever fought the Soul-Stealing Beast of Black Friars armed only with a sharpened stick?" hissed Spender.

Ryoko looked at him, "No," she said.

"Well neither have I, but a dearly departed friend did. You try telling him it's a load of crap."

"You expect us to believe this?" asked Kiyone getting up. She walked across to the table and looked at the Englishman with a steady gaze. "Tell me you believe this."

"I believe it," said Spender. "Because I know it."

"Old wives tale," said a voice behind them.

Everybody span around. Washu stepped over the junked television and sat down on the sofa next to Ryoko.

"Get lost kid. I've had enough trouble being asked about tea." Spender jerked his thumb at Sasami.

"It's all an old wives tale," repeated Washu. "There's no proof. I've looked."

"Would you kindly sod off?" asked Adams. "This is a grown up conversation."

"Washu. Little Washu, pleased to meet you," said the red-haired genius holding out her hand.

"Off. Sod off. Please," smiled Adams.

He didn't know what hit him.

As any high-school physics teacher will tell you, there is no way to actually create something from nothing. Something must obviously come from another thing if it is to be, and that is what makes it not a nothing in the first place. Course your average high-school physics teacher has never had a flowerpot drop from a temporal anomaly and smack you on the noggin. Well, probably not anyway.

That is exactly what happened to Adam Adams, Journalist extraordinaire. Womaniser. Investigator. Steadfast target for plantpots.

"WHERE THE HELL DID THAT COME FROM?" he yelled, nursing a lump that was springing up on his head.

Spender scanned the ceiling with interest. He looked at Washu. "Did you do that?"

There was a flurry of activity as the patented li'l Washu marionettes popped up above either shoulder.

"Sure it was Washu," chirruped the left hand one.

"Washu the genius!" crowed the right one.

"Three cheers for Washu! Hip Hip Hooray! Hip hip Hooray!" they squealed.

Spender stared at them, suddenly bored. He proceeded to sit down on one of the table's seat cushions and shake his head sadly.

"Nine years," he said. "Nine bloody years. And I have never met anything like this."

He stood up again and wandered over to Ayeka. "Princess."

He stepped over to Ryoko, who glared at him. "Pirate."

"Scientist," he said while pointing at Washu.

"Another princess."

"Policewoman."

"Another policewoman."

He looked at Tenchi. "You expect me to believe this... and I do. Sort of. But you don't believe in monsters?"

Tenchi smiled weakly, and hid it behind another sip of tea. "It is a bit unbelievable. Isn't it? Monsters."

"YOU'RE LIVING WITH SIX ALIENS, DAMNIT!" cried Burton.

"We can prove that," said Ayeka. She walked over to the table and sat down next to Tenchi. "Master Tenchi and I can't see any proof toward your 'truth'."

Ryoko phased into existence behind Tenchi, much to the amusement of the investigators. "We want to see how things work out." She wrapped her arms around the boy's neck in a tight hug.

Ayeka twitched visibly but didn't move to intercept this obvious infringement on her 'property'. As if on cue, Spender snapped his fingers and whirled toward the annoyed, cross-legged German. "Herr Doktor, the book of summons. If you please."

The German stood up falteringly and cocked his head like some tufty eared parrot. "You vish to do a summoning? Here? Ja. Ja. Danke, Herr Spender, and vhat if ve have another failure-" He caught Spender's knowing look.

"Ah," said Dr. Heinkel, "You mean ve are to do ze summoning viv ze vun-hundra percent succez veight." He nodded his head mechanically. "Excellent, mein Fuehrer. I hav never seen an accident viv zis. Ever." With a swing of an arm, he pointed to each of the Masaki household residents. "You vill be the first to see ze greatest, never failing, zummonig ever!"

"Dr. Heinkel if you can make it any more blatant that this task always fails us, I would like to see it," sneered the aristocratic Englishman.

The German lowered his voice conspiratorially, though not enough to actually make his voice any harder to hear. "Ve've done zis six times. SIX different goats-"

"Please Dr. Heinkel," Spender said.

"- Vhat happens? Mess. Lotz and lotz of blood everywhere. What appearz? Nothing. So ve try it viv human blood. Ve are banned from St. Orchids London Hospital thanks to Herr Adams. Vhat does human blood do? NOTHING! It is stupid-"

"Dr. Heinkel, I'm warning you. Please be quiet."

"You know he'z never had a girlfriend don't you? He'z socially defunct, you see."

"DR. HEINKEL, SHUT THE FECK UP AND FIND A BLOODY PASSAGE!"

Everyone turned to look at the flustered form of Charles Spender. Perhaps it had better be explained to describe him, and his cohorts as a clear mental picture does wonders, but due to the constraints of such a medium it must be left to the imagination. I expect you'll prefer it that way.

He was literally glowing. Bright red, cheeks incandescent, he looked like a beetroot that was suffering from some hideous skin complaint and had been dumped in a bucket of red paint. He stormed up to Heinkel and shoved his finger into the other man's face. "Choose a passage." he said quietly.

"I can't jus' pick a passage. I must choose vone ver' carefully. It could take an hour or-"

"Choose a passage," said Spender again.

The German pulled the book he had been carrying before from his briefcase and flicked to a page. Then he closed his eyes and stabbed a withered finger down onto it. "Chosen."

"It's a book," laughed Ryoko. "You expect a book to do this stuff?" The feline woman got up and wandered around to kitchen door. "What do we need for this summoning? Some mouse blood, a bell and a candle?" She laughed at her own joke.

"Vhat ve need is some salt, three candles and a small whistle."

"Nothing too hard," said Tenchi.

"And ze blood taken direct from a small animal's still beating heart. Mein gott. Vhere's a diagram here on how to cut ze bitz out."

The investigators looked at each other and smiled. "Where'd that cat-thing go?" grinned Burton.

The house's residents looked on in shock. "You can't hurt Ryo-ohki!" cried Sasami.

"Kid. We can do what we want," said Adams. "You're just lucky we carry vials of cats blood around with us normally."

Everyone bar Burton looked at him. "We do?" asked Spender.

Adams looked back at him, "Burton and I do. Are you saying that you don't?"

The next twenty minutes were spent in a sort of frantic act of insanity. Ayeka and Kiyone collected the various needed items while the others helped clear a large space in the living room. The mess was cleaned up and the sofas and table were pushed to the edges of the room. Even Washu chipped in, at least in soul she was.

Eventually everything was ready and everyone sat around the edges of the living room. The night wind was blowing around the block of hardboard that Tenchi had propped up against the obliterated patio window. Deftly Dr. Heinkel took the salt packet off the arm of one of the sofas and began to draw on the floor, in sodium chloride, a right-handed pentagram ( a right-handed pentagram being opposed to a left handed pentagram quite obviously. The left handed pentagram has two 'horns' upturned, signifying the satanic and evil witchcraft qualities of the magic. The right handed pentagram has but one 'horn', for the exactly opposite reason. And they say fanfiction teaches you nothing ). He watched the crystals on the carpet for a long time. Then he sat down in the lotus position at the uppermost point, book open in front of him, and began to read. "Liber Exmortis. Temperius Necroniminos Yog-Sothoth. Almuriatia quelque marnutius MONSTRO!"

The hardboard wobbled furiously and then collapsed.

"Temperius YOG-SOTHOTH! Necrinomius Aquilla Aquirius." Heinkel leant across and lit the candles that had been put at the three major points of the symbol. He closed his cigarette lighter ( red casing with a little black swastika ) and went into a chant that came from the back of his throat. It sounded like a deep mewling.

"It's all for show,." whispered Spender to Tenchi, who was looking on in terrified wonder. "You could do it without the chanting. I wouldn't be too bothered about it."

Every door in the living room suddenly opened and then slammed shut. Ayeka covered her sister's eyes.

Still in his lotus position, the German took a small vial from his pocket. He opened it and splashed its contents on the carpet at the centre of the pentagram. Blood stained the carpet a deep claret. Tenchi opened his mouth to complain but snapped it shut at what happened next.

It wasn't something that the investigators were expecting either. There was a drawn out moaning from upstairs. Heinkel's closed eyes shot open and he stared at the ceiling. Then the moaning was replaced by a deep pounding from the stairs. Fearful eyes turned to look at them.

Something flickered there for a second. Something shifting and horrible… then nothing. "The whistle!" yelled Adams. "Blow the bloody whistle!"

Spender glanced at every other person in the room. Ayeka was holding a hand in front of the little blue haired girl's face. She was looking at the stairs. The pirate one, Ryoko, was trying to act cool, uninterested. The only problem to this was that with her eyes, there was little chance of hiding the fact that she was engrossed beyond anything Spender had ever seen.

The blonde woman with the pink cardigan was gripping the bandanna wearing woman with such ferocity that he wondered as to whether he should intervene. Then he decided it was more amusing to watch.

Washu was sitting quietly on the sofa, enjoying the spectacle. She was watching intently but with no actual emotion at what she was seeing. Spender sidled over to her and sat down, "Believing now?"

She didn't turn to him. "It's interesting. I admit that," she said carefully.

Then Dr. Heinkel put the whistle to his lips and blew it.

The pea rattled around its metal cage for a short burst and then stopped. There was a deathly silence. All the lights flickered and there was a loud bang upstairs as if something heavy had fallen over.

The pentagram sat in the middle of the room. Nothing sat in its middle.

"VERDAMMT! TOT HUND SCHEIST! GOTT DAMMT NECRONOMICON!" roared the Doctor. He jumped up, grabbed the book and then threw it across the room. It smacked against the kitchen door frame and hit the floor. There was a large dent in the door jamb.

The other investigators stood with the oft seen look of absolute annoyance. "Well done Dr. Heinkel." said Spender, "We have just successfully fluffed up yet another summoning."

"It ist not mein fault. I- shut up!-" He directed the last part of the comment at Ryoko, who was trying to hide her guffaws but failing miserably, "- I had everything. EVERYTHING! It vas all set up like it should be. Zee!"

The old gentleman picked up the whistle that had fallen to the floor when he'd jumped up. "Vhistle," he said. He walked over to, and then picked up, his book and held it aloft. "Zpell." he said.

Next he walked over to the pentagram, and grabbed a handful of the salt. He held it up and let it run between his fingers. "Salt. Pentagram salt." He looked at his hand, suddenly shocked, "No. Zis is not salt. Zis is flour. Who picked up ze flour?"

He threw the remainder of the white flour across the room, leaving a trail of smoke. "Flour! I said salt! No vonder it didn't vork in ze pentagram. Who got ze flour? Own up."

Ayeka looked at her formal kimono ruefully. "Oh," she said, "I thought you said flour."

Dr. Heinkel nodded. "Don't vorry. Itz nothing important."

"Oh. Good." Ayeka breathed an embarrassed sigh.

"Ve now just have a beast in ze area, outside ze confines of ze protecting pentagram."

In the kitchen, behind the closed door, something tittered.

"Do you keep ze salt in ze kitchen?"

"Yes," said Tenchi. "Um… what was that?"

"That is a very good question, Mr Masaki," answered Spender. "Would you care to tell us what it is, Herr Doktor?"

Heinkel stared at him. "Herr Spender, you zaid I should pick one at random. I have no idea what it exactly iz."

"Well look at the title, you burk," Adams said, pushing shotgun cartridges into his gun.

"Ze title ist covered vith blood. I have no idea vhat it iz."

Spender sighed and pulled the pistols from under his jacket. "It just gets better doesn't it?"

A little further up the mountain trail, up a huge and monolithic set of stone steps, you would find the Masaki Shrine. In his little office Katsuhito Masaki was writing one of his nationally famed haiku's. He put the pen down and sat in silence as the sound of a car drifted up from the bottom of the mountain. Then it stopped. He waited a long time, ten minutes maybe.

There was the chatter of gunfire followed by quiet.

He picked the pen up and went back to his writing. "The nights are getting so much noisier," he said to no one in particular.

Another ten minutes went by. Then the lights flickered. There was another pause and the sound of gunfire came once again from the house that his grandson was supposed to be looking after.

Katsuhito put the pen down and went over to the telephone. He dialed a number.

"Masaki residence," said Ayeka at the end of the phone.

"Is everything okay Miss Ayeka? are you having some sort of a party?" asked Katsuhito, readjusting his glasses.

"Erm… yes. To both," replied Ayeka. She then put the phone down.

Katsuhito put his phone back down and sat at his table once again. Then he started another one of his poems.

The entire kitchen door was blown off its hinges as Adams shotgun unloaded a lead shot into it. Spender was first through in a half forward roll, half John Woo dive. He landed on the door facing side of central worktop. He crouched there, pistols in hands.

Then he stood up and spun around, sweeping his guns across the room. The only thing out of place was a few broken plates on the floor.

"I don't see anything. Has it gone?" he asked turning back to Adams and Burton who were standing in the doorframe.

"It's behind you," said Burton, staring intently over Spender's shoulder.

"You're kidding right?" He smiled. The two men in the doorway didn't move. Ryoko stared over the two men's shoulders, mouth a surprised 'o'.

"You're not kidding are you." He turned around. That was when the flickering, nearly invisible thing lunged. He flew backwards smacking against the wall. Adams and Burton raised their guns and opened fire on something that they couldn't see let alone hit. Rounds flicked off the worktops and shattered the kitchen's windows. A metal pot reflected a bullet in a cutting arc, shattering a plant pot on the window sill. All the while there was a horrid tittering. A shrill evil sounding giggling.

Just as suddenly, the laughing stopped. Outside the window, in the dark, the shimmering shape rapidly disappeared.

"It got out!" cried Adams. He turned toward the living room. "It got outside!"

The others in the living room stood in contemplative silence. Finally Tenchi called out, "What do we do?"

"Well," replied Spender, all the while dusting himself down, "I'd recommend barricading the doors and windows. Non?"

- - - - - - - - - -

Tenchi:- This is terrible! The house is wrecked, we've got mad people in it and NOW we've got a monster roaming around.

Spender:- Could be worse.

Tenchi:- And how's that?!?!

Spender:- Well… you could… er… ah… have two monsters. Maybe?

Ryoko:- You've got us in this mess! Do something about it!

Spender:- Madam, I'd love to but there's a slight problem…

Ayeka:- That being?

Spender:- Our fee. All that ammunition does cost a lot, you do realise.

Ayeka:- WHY YOU CALLOUS LITTLE-

Spender:- Kidding. Really. Next episode is; Spender, Hero and saviour of the hour!

Ryoko:- No it's not.

Spender:- You could let a man dream, couldn't you?

- - - - - - - - - -

COMING NEXT EPISODE:-

With the Masaki household besieged by an invisible beast of unknown proportions, only one plan of action is open to our heroes. Fight or die. Well, okay. Two plans of action. Fight, die or hide. Oh. Damn you Monty Python! Anyway next episode, our heroes actually begin to get embroiled in the story that has been hinted at. What were those other, strangely whimsical, scenes that have been throughout? Are they important plot points or just red herrings? We'll have to see. Believe me, from here on in it gets a lot bloodier and a hell of lot more strange. Beware Mr. Whint & Mr. Kidd, for they are truly dangerous.

- - - - - - - - - -

Have you seen the Yellow Sign? The Call of Cthulhu RPG (on which this is based) is the property of Chaosium Inc. Tenchi Muyo is the sole responsibility of the company known as Pioneer. If you are reading this you have Nyarlythotep's blessing. Many characters and ideas are also based on Pagan Publishing's excellent supplement 'Delta Green', and it also has to be said that many Mythos monsters/characters are not from H.P Lovecraft but from other just as able writers. If I knew your names, guys, I'd write them but until I remember who from who… I'll just not take any niceties from people. The Ideal Investigation is by Greg Mohler, I found it on the Delta-Green.com website. Everything else is mine. Got it? I hope so. FNORD.

What are you doing down here? Reviewing would be good … if not, I hope it's nothing rude.

Goodness! That is horrible! Stop that!


	4. The Disappearance

Prepare for the End Times, because nothing, nothing, is going to save you. The world's going to change. But are you going to realise the difference? As if in a bad dream, everything will slowly pull together and the body count will rise. All things considered it may be best if everyone just went home.

WARNING:- BLOODY CHAPTER AHEAD WITH BLOOD AND STUFF! ACK! HIDE BEHIND THE SOFA!

Warning! Civil liberties have been taken. If you can imagine this fic as in the Tenchi Muyo In Love timeline i.e. A mix of Universe and OVA, you should be suspend all disbelief and get on with the story. Basically, it's all OVA except Kiyone's in it. Therefore Katsuhito is known to be Yosho, although he's not openly called it. As always.

Organise for Anarchy!

Warning:- Mildly amusing, one-sided, monologue telephone calls added at no extra charge to sanity (or wallet). Apologies to "Dr. Strangelove". The film that is, not the person.

Those warnings are there to warn you. So be warned.

- - - - - - - - - -

CHAPTER IV:- 

  


The Disappearance of Tenchi Masaki

"Ph-nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn."  
"In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming."  
- The Call of Cthulhu; H.P Lovecraft 

As it is with those imperative things in this world (and quite probably the next), they never seem to be finished. It's called 'causality' and to Charles Spender it was something that he could have done without no end. If you had a weird and tittering thing roaming the grounds of a house entirely foreign to you, you'd probably be slightly annoyed also.

So the troupe, consisting of Tenchi, Ryoko, Ayeka, Sasami, Washu, the two Galaxy Police Officers and Spender's men, were huddled in the centre of the living room. After the knowledge of the beast had seeped into the house's population there had been a frantic scramble, an adrenaline charged fiasco in which everything that could be upturned was, and anything movable was used to block entrances. Which were also by some chance, exits, but no one seemed to have remembered that.

"Well," said Spender from his hiding place beneath the table. In his hands were a pair of field glasses and he was looking out through the broken and partially boarded up patio window. What with it being dark he'd had little chance of actually seeing anything but it made him feel better none the less. "Well." he said again and raised the binoculars to his eyes.

"Well, well, well," he rattled off in quick succession. He squinted and let the binoculars gaze drift across the darkness of the lake and the area surrounding it. "My, my."

Ayeka and Washu looked from behind one overturned sofa. "Have you found something?" hissed the princess.

"No, no. Just keeping in practice in case I do." He glanced over his shoulder toward the prone form of Tenchi, who was wearing a colander that had been swiped from the kitchen's utensil shelf. "Is there a back way out of here?"

Tenchi looked at him. "The front door."

"I wouldn't exactly call that the back."

"Then this is the back," said Tenchi.

Somewhere outside there was a weedy tittering and something flickered against the ex-patio window. Spender leapt up, banged his head against the underside of the table and collapsed again. "BUGGER!" he cried and this time pushed the table away before engaging in action packed maneuvers. "BUGGER!" he cried with more force at the knowledge that the beast had scarpered. 

Outside in the hall the telephone rang. Ayeka ran out of the living room, removing a chair that was blocking the doorway, much to everyone's chagrin, and answered it. There was brief conversation. Then she returned. Mihoshi glanced at her with tired eyes. "Who was that, Ayeka?"

"Just Grandfather," she said and went back to her hiding place.

Spender was still standing there, his coat flapping in the night air. "Where's Adams?" he asked.   
Adams slid out from behind a drape. "Here."

"Adams, how much ammo have you got?"

The Liverpudlian reporter glanced at his shotgun and shrugged. "Not enough."

"One clip," said Burton from behind the opposite curtain.

Dr. Heinkel's hand rose from behind the back of the other sofa, "I have vun-"

"Shut it you," snapped Adams. "You're not even armed."

"It'z my ballistophobia," whined Heinkel and disappeared once again.

Ryoko stood up and pounded a fist into her palm. "Let's go out there and kill it."

Spender sighed and wandered out into the hall. "Would you care to join me?"

The others followed him with trepidation and found him sitting on the hall's step, staring at the door. "What we need is the explosives," he said.

"They're in the car," said Burton. "Along with the ammo." He looked at the others in the room. "Of course if someone were to volunteer…"

Adams knelt down next to Sasami and smiled warmly, "Do you want to help us little girl?" He was rewarded with a clip across the face from Ayeka's oft ready back-hand. "Ow. I'll take that as a no, then."

"We're safe in here," said Kiyone, glaring at Adams, "All we need to do is wait until sunrise."

"She's quite right. It's five miles to the nearest house," replied Tenchi raising the colander slightly, so as to see. "There's no worries about it finding people and…"

Sasami's hand shot to her mouth, but not in time to stifle a small squeak. "What?" asked Adams.

"Grandfather!" she cried from behind her hand. "He's up at the shrine. Somebody's got to help him."

The group looked at each other. "Sod that for a game of soldiers," said Adams, "I'm not playing hero."

__

The beast was hungry. Blood. Sustenance. Blood. It needed to feed. The rodent it had found outside had just told it how really underfed it was. The huge stone stairs were a trouble to climb, especially when hungry. There was food at the top it knew. Easier food than that at the bottom with the house and the foodlets with the boom sticks. It had known boom sticks. They hurt.

Even with all the excitement downstairs and the telephone call, Katsuhito was still sitting in the shrine office, composing another exciting haiku. He scratched the pen across the paper and thought about something else to write. Outside the window, the lamps he'd set up did little but make the darkness that much darker. Shadows loomed. As did something else.

__

It had reached the top of the stairs. It could see the building before it; wood, stone, flesh. Food inside. It moved forward, tasting the air with chattering mouth. A delicate tongue slid past bone mandibles and lolled lightly. Slowly, ever so slowly, it moved forward. The door was open. Beyond the portal.. fodder.

Katsuhito put the pen down and stared at the door. He had left it open, to allow the cool night air in. "Invigorating" as he'd always say to Tenchi, when the pair were going through the theory of armed combat and its discipline. "Idiotic," had said Tenchi and earned himself a clip around the ear. Carefully, the old man stood up and walked over the doorway. He stood there, leaning against the frame and looking out over the courtyard. 

A pair of leaves drifted lightly across it, before stopping. Quietly, they shifted again, this time heading toward the door.

"How very strange," Katsuhito muttered, before slamming the door shut. There was a loud bang, as if something had ran into the other side of it. It shook for a second. Then, from beyond it, there was a gentle whimper. Soon even that was gone.

Katuhito stood there, his hand on the door knob, for a time. Then he shuffled back to his chair and sat down. "The Haiku of the Beast Hidden From the Eye," he said quietly and once again the pen ran across the paper.

__

Outside, the beast creature silently cursed the creation of doors and, with a sore head and even sorer pride, set off down the steps toward the boom stick owners. Even they appeared easier prey than the old one. With the door.

It would perhaps be best to explain now, the ironic nature of the situation, that they didn't actually know was ironic... but was. You see the fact that the car was at the bottom of the small hill that led up to Tenchi's house was no real coincidence. In fact, there are no real coincidences, only fake ones, that have been carefully set up in the grand scheme of things to make it look as though the grand scheme is little more than coincidence. But isn't. Isn't that always the case?

So the terrific irony of the situation is, in itself, not even remotely ironic, but it is, if only taken out of context. For although this singular instance that the hill is a little too steep to drive up proves a deathly problem to everyone's well being now, in the future (when Tenchi's house is bulldozed down and turned into an occult museum) the final battle between the Human Resistance and the Forces of Perpetual Light will be decided by that single geographic facet.

This might seem all rather trivial ("Future wars?" "Ultimate battles between the Forces of Perpetual Light?") but believe me, to understand this story, you'll need to understand everything forming to make a giant holistic whole. Or rather a giant, holistic hole, that sucks up the very essence of yin and yang and leaves a sacred chao and elder sign shaped stain on the very bosom of creation. And all that.

"Perhaps," said Spender evenly, "we could engage in the time honoured tradition of calling for reinforcements."

The group were sitting in the living room again. The seconds had ticked around to minutes and the beast appeared to have gone or at least it had pretended to have appeared to have gone, which really wasn't the same.

Adams was sitting in a re-upturned chair with his shotgun across his lap. His eyes never seemed to slake, switching between the women of the house with equal interest.

From beneath his colander, "How do you mean?" Tenchi asked.

Spender walked out of the room and then walked back in again. In his hand was the blue telephone from the hall, unplugged. Casually, he wandered the room and then, upon finding a socket, jacked in the phone.

"You're going to phone some more of your friends?" Kiyone asked, trying to keep the sleeping Mihoshi's head from falling on to her shoulder.

"My God, no! As if they'd do that!" He turned to Adams, "As if they'd do that, eh, Adams?"

Adams broke eye contact with Ayeka's chest and stared at him. "What?"

Spender smiled at him sweetly, took two steps forward and drop-kicked him off the chair. There was a resounding clatter.

"That," said Spender, "is for impoliteness to our hostess' collective bodies." 

He turned around again, picked up the phone's receiver, then hammered the cradle until he got the operator. "Emergency services, please."

A brief pause.

"What are you talking about? ... You can't get emergency services from this line ...... And, why? ...... Oh ..... Well, put me through to 235666 ...... Yes ...... That is a Tokyo number ....... And reverse charge it ....... Reverse charge ....... R-E-V-E-R-S-E space C-H-A-R-G-E ............ No ....... No ...... It's not a name ........ It's a ......... What about collect call? Do you do that? ............ No ....... Just put me through to the number ......... 235 666 ....... Yes, that's a six! ...... No, I won't hold ....... I said NO! ........ Damn."

He turned to Tenchi sourly. "Sorry, it's on your bill." Tenchi just shrugged.

Spender put the phone back to his ear. "I'd have more luck phoning Premier Kissoff ........ Hello? Is this 235666 ...... Who's asking? ...... No, I'm not asking you who's asking ...... Yes, I'm just engaging in a tedious monologue ....... Well, thank you very much."

He put his hand over the phone's mouthpiece and looked at everyone in the room. "Just cross your fingers everyone. No. Not you Burton, you jinxing bastard."

"Hello ...... David, is that you? ..... Hello? ... Ah ... I can't hear too well. Do you suppose you could turn the music down just a little? ... Oh-ho, that's much better. ... yeah ... huh ... yes ... Fine, I can hear you now, David. ..... Clear and plain and coming through fine ......... I'm coming through fine, too, eh? ........ Good, then ....... well, then, as you say, we're both coming through fine ......... Good. ......... Well, it's good that you're fine and ........ and I'm fine. ....... I agree with you, it's great to be fine  
... a-ha-ha-ha-ha ... Yes, that is funny ..... Well, it's strange that you happen to mention the stars. And aliens...."   
(From the other side of the room, the perpetual inhabitants of the Tenchi house waved their hands above their heads and shushed Spender quietly. He waved back at them cheerfully.)  
"Now then, David, you know how we've always talked about the possibility of something going wrong with the Book. ...... The *_Book_*, David. ....... The *_Necronomicon_* book! ...... Well now- ...... ah ...... Yes it was hypothetical ....... But listen, David ......... You know we're here for the UFO landing ....... Well, we found it and we sort of had an accident ....... he had a sort of- ........ Yes, it was Heinkel.... well, he went a little funny in the head ... you know ............ just a little ....... funny........ And, ah ....... he went and did a silly thing ...  
Well, I'll tell you what he did .......... Don't let this look bad on him and me though ........ Oh, yes....... Well, ha-ha, he called up something from the book ......... accidentally? ......... sort of ... Ah... Well, let me finish, David ................ Let me finish, David ........... Well listen, how do you think I feel about it?! ... Can you *_imagine_* how I feel about it, David? .................... Why do you think I'm calling you? Just to say hello? ... *_Of course_* I like to speak to you! ............. *_Of course_* I like to say hello! ... It's just when we're hunting blasphemous beasts from the nether-pits of untold horror, it's a bit hard to find a phone ....... What do you mean, 'I've found one at the moment' !?!? ........... I'm just calling up to tell you something terrible has happened ......... It's a *_friendly_* call ...... Of course it's a friendly call ....... Listen, if it wasn't friendly ....... you probably wouldn't have even got it ......... This is not another Beirut, David ........ I'm sure it's only a class 3 apparition ....... No, I didn't say that last time ........ 'They will *_not_* eat you?' ... I am ... I am positive I didn't say that in Beirut ........ "  
(He wipes his nose with his shirt cuff)  
"Listen, I've been all over this....... Yes! I mean i-i-i-if we're unable to recall it, then ... I'd say that, ah ...... well, ah ... we're just gonna have to destroy it, David ....... What do I mean 'we'? ....... We, David ....... Yes, that is in plural ...... I know they're your boys ........ All right, well listen now ...... Who should we call? ......... *_Who_* should we call, David? The ... wha-whe, the People... you, sorry, the music came back on ....... What is that? ...... Oh, Call of Ktulu ......... Sorry, who was it you said then? ....... The People's Group for the Miskatonic Few, Okayama Branch ... Where is that, David? ... In Okayama ............ I sort of grasped that ... Yes. ... I can guess you found that funny, David, you're laughing ...... No, David, bring it all up ...... Have you stopped coughing now? ....... Right ........ Oh, you'll call them first, will you? ... Uh-huh ... Listen, do you happen to have the phone number on you, David? ........ Whe-ah, what? I see, just ask for Okayama information ... Ah-ah-eh-uhm-hm ........ No, it's not a problem but the operator ........ She's one of your team? ........ Tell her ....... Right ........ Okay ....... I'm sorry, too, David ... I'm very sorry. ... *_All right_*, you're sorrier than I am, but I am sorry as well ... I am as sorry as you are, David! Don't say that you're more sorry than I am, because I'm capable of being just as sorry as you are ....... So we're both sorry, all right?! ... All right. I hope this works...."

He put the phone back down. Mihoshi turned her gaze up to him, "Did it work?" she asked.

"No," said Spender, "Wrong number." Everyone stared at him. "Kidding, kidding."

He rapped on the cradle again. "Operator? Will you help the second father's son?" There was an audible click and buzz from the receiver.

"Miskatonic Few, Okayama Branch? This is Charles Spender, Southern England Branch ..... Probable class 3 anomalous entity, complete shutdown, emergency operations in progress, lack of local PE and short on MP and ammo. Suggest immediate evac and clean sweep of area ............ 'What does all that mean'? ........ What do you mean, 'Day off' ? ........ This is not the Labour Club, you stupid sod! You can't just clock off! ......... I could be having my legs chewed off by a bloody mutant dog down here! I could have Hast- erm - He Who Should Not Be Named traipsing across the road and you're off down the local club! ........ It's free saké night ...... Not excusable ........ The police? ....... And that number is? .......... Good ...... And screw you too, ya bloody slant eyes."

He wiggled the cradle, oblivious to Tenchi's shocked look at his outburst and dialed in the buttons for the police.

"What? ..... Oh, police please ............ Is this the police? ... That'll do ....... There's a big beast lurking outside the house I'm in and I'm buggered if I'm going out there ...... What am I talking about? ........ Life and death, ma'am ..... obviously ...... No, the assailant's about 6 feet, but maybe smaller. He was invisible you see ..... Yes, invisible ...... No, that's transparent ..... Like glass ......... No, it's the difference between chalk and cheese. Transparent is there but see-through, invisible isn't ........ No, it is there ...... And it makes a noise like a wailing marmoset ........ In heat .......... No, higher ............ That's it, but more clearly ....... Hang on, the house's owner wants a word."

He gave the phone to Tenchi who was standing with his hand outstretched. The other people around Spender were in various facial stages of disgust and bemusement, which was strange to him as, usually, the few calls to the police he had made in his life had gone in very similar ways. He had never managed to connect that with the fact that the police didn't seem to send cars when he needed them, however.

Tenchi was talking calmly and carefully. He gave out the address, the situation in that a man was prowling outside and that his brain-dead, lethargic, half-comatose cousin happened to have got to the phone first. And no, he wouldn't be allowed to talk to the police dispatchers again.

He handled it very well for a 17-year old with a colander on his head.

"Did that work?" asked Spender.

"No," said Tenchi, "Wrong number."

The butler looked at the man who was standing on the doorstep with the stare that only a butler can muster. "Can I help you, monsieur?"  
Grotesque in his crumpled suit, waving his hat like a fan to cool off his glistening jowls, the man nodded. In fact, his entire body nodded or rather more accurately, wobbled. _Un homme gros_, as the Butler's very French mind said.

"Er, oui, oui," the fat man muttered through blubbery lips. He looked over his shoulder at his parked sedan and the vast steaming swamp behind him. "I'm here to see the Deacon."

The butler stepped aside and waved the man past, "Ah, monsieur, come right in!" He stopped suddenly and stepped forward again, blocking the door the fat man was waddling toward. "Pardon a moi, monsieur, s'il vous plait. S'appelle tu?"

"My name?" The fat man seemed surprised. "Ridley. Just tell him it's Ridley to see him."

"Ah, Mr. Ridley." The butler stepped back again, this time allowing Ridley inside, "You must realise that it ees nothing personal, my unknowledge of you."

The hall was decked out in the usual Colonial garb found so often in the mansions found around New Orleans. It was a large entrance with a sweeping staircase that led up to the balcony-like landing. The floor was a polished marble. It screamed 'money' in very large, very flamboyant, very colourful letters. Letters that were also in capitals, gilded and platinum plated, with a side-order of money and a general sprinkling of cash.

Ridley paid it no attention. Mere material objects were below him, and he suspected that they were also below the house's proprietor, although there was still some pride in the fact that he had come so far as to buy all this.

He was led down the hall, past a number of solid oak doors, into a small, yet tasteful, living room. There was an old man sitting in a chair by the fire. A large blanket had been pulled up to his chin, hiding all but his crinkled face. The eyes stared out from beneath bushy eyebrows. There were two other chairs, less well cushioned but no less comfortable set out facing the old man's chair.

"Come in, come in, dear Ridley!" the old man said sharply. A wrinkled arm raised itself from below the blanket and waved at one of the chairs, "Sit down, sit down."

The fat man looked around for the butler, but he had left silently. Waddling forward, hat in hand, Ridley sat down in the closest empty chair.

The old man's hand pointed across at the chair next to him. "You haven't met Mr. Growne?"

Ridley turned and found to his surprise that there was a black man sitting in the chair next to his. Ridley certainly wasn't bothered by that fact, he had grown up in New Orleans and it didn't pay to have racist tendencies in such a locale. He just wasn't expecting the man to be there nor to look the way he did.

Mr. Growne, as the old man had called him, looked like a bank manager. Dressed somberly in suit and tie, with a briefcase on his knees, he looked out of place in the 20's atmosphere that the mansion had given off.

"Is there something wrong, Mr. Ridley?" Growne asked. He had a Maine accent, once again out of place.

Ridley shook his head. "No. I wasn't expecting anyone else to be here." He held out his hand. Growne took it, ignoring the clamminess, and shook it warmly.

The old man cackled. "Well, seeing as the formalities are over, it's time to get to work." He stopped suddenly and then clucked his tongue loudly. "How rude of me! Drinks, gentlemen?" He picked up a small bell from the arm of his chair and rang it quietly. "Frederick and I have the most superb Cajun coffee. Made out on the bayou." The butler entered the room and the old man ordered his java. With a nod the butler looked at the Growne and Ridley expectantly. They politely declined.

When the butler had left once again, the old man started up again. "You'd be amazed how supernatural those Cajuns are. They haven't been on my land at all since the Stars." He laughed. "But that isn't the point... is it."

It wasn't a question.

"No it isn't, Deacon," said Growne, opening the briefcase with a deft hand. "As you know the situation has become more desperate... with the Eris and all-"

"You mean the Stars," the old man stated matter-of-factly.

Gowne nodded. "Of course, both are interchangeable." He took a collection of papers from the briefcase and spread them out on a coffee table between the three chairs. "These are all studies put forward by the various institutions; NASA, publicly available military sources, universities. They all point to the same thing-"

"Completely improbable beginnings," interrupted the old man again.

"Er, yes. There are numerous pieces of space detritus that could have hit, but the force and size needed to spread the pieces like that would need.... an act of a god at least. Compared to human power needs." He pointed to a sheaf of paper, a photocopy with spidery writing. "There's no actual chart or diagram in any book or known manuscript that gives evidence of the Stars form, but we are all aware of the G'harne Fragments tellings and the extracts from the Necronomicon."

Ridley lounged back in his chair. "This is the sign, Deacon. Over four hundred thousand million years, and we've got the sign. It's only a matter of picking a spot that's suitable."

"One has already been found, a town some miles from here." The old man waved his hand impatiently, "The End shall begin in three days. Ph-nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn, my brothers."

"Ph-nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn," replied the two men.

The butler reentered and put the cup of coffee on an empty space on the coffee table. He slipped outside again.

"I'm all for this, my Deacon. However, what about the present situation?"

Gowne looked worried for a second. "I was not told of a situation. What situation?"

Ridley looked at him, "The Eris is.... was, one of theirs. They're probably onto the same thing as us."

"I wouldn't be surprised if there are thousands of people attempting this," the old man said while blowing on his coffee. "We will succeed. I dreamed it."

"And what about Spender?"

The old man spat his Cajun coffee across the room. He mopped at his mouth with the corner of the blanket. "Spender!" he hissed, "I can't stand those investigators!"

"Who's Spender?" asked Growne, who looked completely lost.

Ridley grimaced. As self-imposed head of this sort of situation he should have handled it long ago. "Spender is an English meddler. His father was one of the three who fouled up our Paris branch back in '71." He rubbed his nose thoughtfully, "He's been lucky so far."

"He's not lucky," growled the old man, "He's a monumental pain in my ass!" 

"He's got the backing of the Miskatonic Faculty... Those in the know, of course," continued Ridley. "He's screwed up more of our plans than his father ever could have."

Growne looked on. "He's good then?"

"Good? GOOD!?!" bellowed the old man. "If that man is good, I'm Father Dagon! He's damned lucky that's all!" He pointed indignantly at Ridley, "You should have sorted him out a long time ago!"

"I have the two best agents on his trail," replied Ridley, who was beginning to sweat lightly.

The old man's jaw jutted outwards, "We only have _two_ agents."

"Then they're obviously the best," said Growne quietly. "Are they good?"

"Oh, they're superb. Trained in psychology, magic, paranormal understanding, assassination techniques, intimidation, extortion, murder, weapon training, hand-to-hand combat, door-to-door pamphlet sales..." The fat man shrugged. "It's only a matter of time. They're on their way to Japan right now. Spender's a little careless when booking airplane tickets."

The old man growled to himself, then spoke aloud, "Kill Spender. I want his head on a plate. Anyone else with him is to die as well." He stared at the flickering fireplace absently, "I want you two to be prepared for the sacrifices."

The two men sat bolt upright. "You're going to kill us?" squeaked the men as one.

"No, I want you to be at the ceremony. The entire town will be there, along with the Florida branch and the rest."

Ridley and Growne stopped sweating and breathed a sigh of life.

"And," said the man, "This will be a chance to show up the Kansas group. Get me a nice cloak. One that's whiter-than-white, would you Growne?"

Growne smiled. "Of course sir."

"Ph-nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn, my brothers," said the old man.

"Cthulhu fhtagn."

* * * *

INFO INSERT III:-  
If Only You Knew What You Were Getting Into

"It has become today's disease. America's disease.  
Men and women, taking up the mantle for themselves; it has got to stop!  
Fascists, racists, survivalists, cults, new-agers. It is no longer a game.  
It is destruction."

- Governor Joseph Lepus, California (1993) 

* * * * *

The world is no longer as it once was. In the 1920s, the investigators believed it was the End-Times. The cults, the chaos, the Russian Revolution, the liberalness of life. 

If they could have seen what today would hold.

No longer do degenerate cults creep quietly and silently in the secluded swamps of America and the quaint towns of Britain, nor do town's people live in fear of backwater sorcerers. Today, those selfsame sorcerers are evangelising their philosophies on Cable TV, all major credit cards accepted.

The horrors of yesteryear are today's passé. People are more interested in the mass-murderers, genocidal dictators and the latest episode of their favourite television show. People's priories suck, to put it plainly.

So, what about these cults? Why haven't you seen them?

You have. You just don't see past the junk. New-Age Religion; most of it's just old age paganism. "Free your mind and your body will follow."

Yeah. Right. Welcome to the cult of no return. You either worship, or you're sacrifice.

The cults themselves are each a different and separate entity. With the millions of deities about, it's obvious that different groups will worship different gods. And each group, even those ones that worship the same master, are at odds with the others.

Why?

Look at the 'normal' religions; Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Judaism. Can they get along with each other? Of course not. Now look at the Christian 'church'. One roof beneath which a hundred congregations sit.

Methodist, Baptist, Church of England, Roman Catholic, Quakers, Jehovah's Witnesses. The list's endless.

And then there's the fringe cults, ones that don't realise _who_ they're worshipping, ones that worship multiple Great Ones, singular sects with a single follower, mass cults which are linked, slight joined groups with a passing nod to their brethren.

They're everywhere beneath the surface. How many of the rich and famous worship Cthulhu, his enemies, his allies, or just him but under another name? Perhaps it's better not to ask.

The End-Time's coming, friends. And with nowaday's people, there's little chance of pushing back the darkness one more time.

Not much of a life, is it?

* * * * *

CHAPTER IV:-   


(we now return to the advertised feature)

The Disappearance of Tenchi Masaki

"Well, we certainly solved that problem, eh?" said Spender. He looked over his shoulder at those in the back of the people carrier. Ayeka, Ryoko, Mihoshi, Kiyone, Sasami and Washu stared back at him, ashen-faced and wide-eyed.

Ryoko looked particularly pale. Even her usually vivid hair had lightened. Spender stared at her and then turned back to the road. "No pleasing some people," he muttered.

40 Minutes Earlier:- 

Officers Nishibata and Kiyobaba of the Kurashika Police Department had handled many strange things in their years as civil protectorates. They had seen bodies by the score, suicides, rapes and, in two cases, death by shooting (a rarity in the gun-conscious Nipponese society). Tonight would be the strangest thing they had ever seen. They would remember it for the rest of their lives.

But seeing as the rest of their lives encompasses another six minutes and eleven seconds that wasn't a particularly impressive act.

The dispatch had come through the police band radio as they had sat in their patrol car, and the pair hadn't exactly jumped at the chance to go gallivanting about the backwoods to defend some little house from a prowler.

But they had gone for the sake of their honour and pay-packet, which are both really stupid things to die for in the best of circumstances.

The Masaki house was some distance from the main road. A short gravel road intersected the road and ran up a slight dip to a garage. That garage was then joined by another path that led to the house's gate and entrance. Overall, the wood's tree cover pretty much hid the entire household from the road and the air. 

Parked on the main road, a yard or so from the gravel path, was a light blue people carrier and it was this that the Kurashika police patrol vehicle parked behind.

Nishibata and Kiyobaba got out and flicked on their torches and strode purposefully toward the parked carrier, light beams playing across the vehicles rear.

"Well, this great," said Nishibata stopping by the boot of the car. He wiped at the dirt ridden rear window and held his torch up to help him get a look in, "We've got a parked people carrier with rental plates."

Kiyobaba unclipped his revolver holster's cover and moved the torch about the undergrowth. "Multiple suspects?"

"How I am I supposed to know?" Nishibata looked up at him, then rubbed some more grime from the window and stood on tip-toes to get a better view.

Kiyobaba shrugged. He walked towards the gravel road. "Where do you think you're going?" called Nishibata after him.

"Doing my NYPD Blue impression," called back Kiyobaba. "Just wandering off, without back-up, to investigate strange occurrences." He continued walking up the path, torch held above shoulder.

Growling, Nishibata stood back up, kicked at the people carrier's tyre and then stormed after his partner, fervently praying for a return of the days before creeping Americanisation had set in.

How little did he know that he would soon be deader than a man that had been locked in a cellar-cum-auditorium with a floating, flame spitting daemonic cat from an alternative dimension (interestingly enough something that befell investigator extraordinaire Charles Spender. For more information see the forthcoming book, "The Mystery of Mudlow Moore").

The two police officers crept silently along the path. It was generally anticipated that when investigating disturbances, officers were meant to be as normal in their movements as possible so as to scare away any would-be prowler, but because they'd both watched the X-Files non-stop marathon there was a general feeling of would-be creepingness. However, their creepiness was seriously undermined by the hugely creepy beast that was creeping behind the two creeping officers and generally being a bit of a creeping creep. As you do.

It's cavernous maw, with chitinous mandibles, would have slabbered and looked heinous if it weren't for the fact that the monstrous entity was invisible.

And it was sliding up behind them.

It was the knock at the door that made everyone in the Masaki residence jump. It was just such a normal thing to occur in all the insanity, that all the inhabitants looked at each other and wondered who it could be at this time of the night and, rather more importantly, why?

"Who could that be at this time of the night?" asked Ayeka from behind the sofa.

Spender, who had been leaning around the living room door and looking at the front door for any signs of imminent danger, slipped toward the sound. He ducked down next to the door, pressed his lips to the letterbox and spoke through.

"Who's out there?" he quizzed.

"This is the police," said a voice from the other side of the letterbox. "Can we come in, please?"

Spender thought about this for a second. "No," he said finally.

There was a brief conversation to be heard through the wood. Then the voice returned, "Why not?"

"How do I know you're the police?" retorted Spender, in his element.

There was a brief click and then something black and rectangular slid through the letterbox. With a brief cry, Spender ran for his life, leaping like an action hero back into the living room through the open door.

When the device failed to detonate, Spender's head poked around the corner, followed closely by the colandered head of Tenchi and the brave Kiyone.

"It must be a defective assassination device," said Spender, hands on ears.

Kiyone commando crawled forward and prodded the black thing for a second. Then she picked it up. "It's a police badge," she said, flicking the thing open to reveal the photo and ID of a Kurashika Police Department officer.

Spender shrugged. "It's a common mistake to make." He walked toward the door. And it was then the screaming started.

Outside, in the near pitch darkness, Nishibata walked over towards the corner of the house as his partner tried in vain to get someone to open the door. His torch was casting dull shadows as he let it drift before him.

Then he stopped.

And the thing in front of him stopped.

In the pale torchlight, something semi-visible stood. It shimmered, about the height of a man and with a shape.... his eyes wavered uncontrollably.  
That shape...  
Something on the thing's front (if it was the thing's front, he couldn't be sure) opened. A transparent beak with hooked glass like things inside.  
He gulped, eyes wide, unable to move. His larynx seized up and his bowels moved involuntarily. He still hadn't raised his gun as the thing floated slowly toward him, the tendrils inside the beak waving slowly.

Tasting his fear.

Kiyobaba heard the scream just after he heard someone mention the words "Police" and "Badge". He was so irritated with the fact that the door hadn't opened that he missed seeing Nishibata wandering off.

It was generally observed that there were three types of scream; Scream Number One is generally reserved for incidents that are duly shocking but normally result in nothing more than hurt pride or minor injury, such as being on a rollercoaster or seeing a really gruesome bit of blood-letting on the telly or smacking your finger with a hammer. Scream Number Two is less common except after dark, as this scream is only heard along the lines of "ARRRGH! I'm drunk and I've fallen over my own feet!" or "ARRRGH! I'm legless and think screaming's very similar to karaoke."

Scream Three is the thing that gets people. It's the blood-curdling scream of someone who's about to have, or is having, something extremely nasty happen / happening to them.

This was the _mother_ of all Scream Number Three's. 

Kiyobaba spun around, one hand already snapping the pistol from its holster. Nishibata was standing ten yards away, frozen except for his screaming, as his torch highlighted _something_ barreling toward him at a rate of knots. Caring not a jot what the thing was, Kiyobaba raised the gun and pulled the trigger.

There was a click, and the officer realised, in his haste, he had forgotten to pull the hammer into position.

He clicked it back, but not fast enough to stop the thing crash into his partner.

There was a brief second as the man was lifted up, his torch flying off into a hedge, his hat landing on the path and the rest of the man careening through the air for six feet to the hard cold ground. The scene was suddenly plunged into darkness as Nishibata's torch disappeared into the undergrowth and Kiyobaba's lay turned off at his feet.

Slowly, the armed officer knelt down. Groping in the pitch darkness for his torch, he felt his hands close around it. Just as slowly, he raised it and clicked it on.

He moved the torch beam across the ground and the hedgerow. He took a step forward.

"Nishibata?"

He took another step forward, a lump in his throat.

There was a snap from the shrubs to his left.

He was already dropping to his knee, gun raised, torch illuminating the bush. The greenery sat there in the light, a single leg poking out from underneath it. Very slowly, the bush rustled and another inch of leg disappeared under the bush's cover.

He blinked and another inch slid in with the barest rustle.

"Nishibata?" he called out again.

The rustling stopped, and there was a sudden savage jerk that dragged in the rest of the leg, boot and all.

A horrible, shrill titter followed. Then a crunch and a slurping noise.

Kiyobaba took steps backwards towards the door.

"What t' bloody 'ell was that?" bellowed Adams bursting into the hall, shotgun and Liverpudlian accent at the ready.

Spender looked at him dryly. "I think it might have been a scream."

There was a crash and a bang from outside the door. Then there was a voice saying something unintelligible. And then a little louder the same voice said, "Not a barber?"

The people in the hall looked at one another. "Perhaps we should open the door," said Tenchi. He made forward.

A hand grabbed his sleeve. He looked down to find Kiyone holding it with a vigour.

"I don't think that would be a good idea," she said.

From the other side of the wood there was a slight scratching, then a quiet trembling voice from the letterbox. "Are you there?"

"Erm... yes," Tenchi muttered, creeping toward the opening, Kiyone still holding him tight.

There was a sob. "Please, let me in. Please."

The group looked at each other. "Why?" asked Adams kneeling right next to the slot in the door.

"It's out here. It's _out_ here." There was a pause and a giggle. "It knows. It's got a mouth. It's going to eat.... the _WORLD_!"

"Oh dear," Spender sighed. "Looks like he met it. And he's lost it." He stood up. "I guess we'd better open the door and-"

BANG!

There was a thunderclap as the pistol from outside went off. From the floor, the people in the hall could hear the screaming, wailing Kiyobaba firing at something that was, as he cried, 'On top of him'.

There were four more shots and then silence. A wracking collection of sobs and then suddenly a massive thumping against the door.

"LET ME IN! LET ME IN! LET ME IN! LET ME IN! LETMEIN! LE'MEIN! L'M'IN! _LET MEEEEEE INNNNNNNNNNNNNN!_"

The letter box snapped open and fingers slid through, gripping the metal, both of which began to shake. The fingers tightened, the knuckles growing white.

"GET IT OFF ME! MY GOD! MY GOD!" There was a piercing shriek, and the fingers went into a strange jerking motion as though their owner was being shaken up and down like a rattle. All the while the same cries were going on and on.

Then just as suddenly as they'd appeared, the fingers went taunt and straight and disappeared back through the slot. The screaming became quieter. Quieter, but still there, as if the screamer was still engaging in his act but was doing it from some distance away.

Then that was cut off.

Spender looked at his ashen faced companions, and then nonchalantly waved his hand. "I believe the time for door opening has passed."

In the living room, the household were sitting quietly as Spender explained their situation. Positioned by the glassless patio window were Burton and Adams who watched outside for anything that might need severe perforation of the bullet kind.

"We are in a decidedly dodgy situation here," he started with classic English understatement. He was sitting on one of the chairs and as he spoke he waved his hand about casually as if he was having a calm over-the-table chat with the village vicar, "As of this moment, we are trapped in a house that is besieged by a hideous denizen from somewhere other than this earth."

"It iz probably from ze constellation Artuz B," Dr. Heinkel said absently. "They're of ze invizible statue."

"Yes. Quite. Now, if I am to make a few points?" He looked at everyone, who just stared at him with terrified eyes. He guessed that meant yes. "Point 1; the being is invisible.  
Point 2; the being is dangerous.  
Point 3; the being just ate two policeman."

He paused and allowed that to sink in.

"Those are my points. I'm done."

There was a collective blink.

Mihoshi tentatively raised a hand; "Are you saying you can't get rid of it?"

"Well, if that's what you mean by it all.... I would have to say that question is.... well, being purely subjective.... is a hypothetical quiz of.... what I mean is-"

"Just spit it out," growled Ryoko, "Damn, you're worse than Washu."

Washu cocked an eyebrow but said nothing.

"That would be the case," said Spender. "However!" he called out before anyone could move, "I have an idea. And it is we call the police again."

"How does that help us?" asked Kiyone.

"Hopefully after eating a lot of people, its vast bulk from all the human's fatty tissue should result in it being unable to move, or at least being very slow. Then we can run away."

"I'm not sure I like that idea," Tenchi said slowly.

Spender shrugged, "If the worst comes to the worst, at least we could run past it while it's feeding."

"I say we throw Ayeka to the monster," said Ryoko matter-of-factly.

"I can't believe you'd put that forward!" cried Ayeka.

There was a sudden clamour of voices as everyone tried to deride Ryoko's idea. Adam's voice cut through sharply, "She did muck up the spell. I say she surrenders herself to it."

Ryoko cried, pointing at Adams, "See! Someone thinks I'm right!"

Spender nodded from his seat. "It is a possibility. All those in favour of throwing the Princess woman to the beast and legging it while it savagely eats her, raise hands."

Adams and Ryoko raised their hands.

"And all those not in favour of chucking the Madam to the voracious beast, please raise hands."

There was a pause. Then Ayeka and Sasami raised their hands.

"Why aren't you raising your hands!" wailed the elder of the princesses.

The others looked at each other, and then, very slowly, raised their hands.

"I believe the Ayeka Party has won in this count," Spender said clearly above the sound of Ryoko blowing very loud raspberries at the decision.

Adams raised his hand. "I demand a recount for my party's head."

"Yes!" said Ryoko, suddenly stopping her noises, "I demand a recount."

Spender stood up and walked over to Adams. Then, very carefully, grabbed him by the ear. Holding the squirming figure's extremity, he pointed at the hall. "I'll be out here if anyone needs me." He frog marched the reporter out.

Outside in the corridor, beyond the ears of others, Spender let go of Adams' own. "This is not a Presidential election," he said loudly, "I am not going to have you flapping about because of a bit of skirt."

"I'm not flapping about," said Adams holding his tender ear.

Spender sighed. "You're undermining everything. We are not on the pull."

"Why not?"

"Have you noticed she's not human?"

Adams thought about this. "Well," he said finally, "Good point. What about the green-haired one?"

Spender kicked him very hard.

However, it appears we are missing the main brunt of why this chapter is called "The Disappearance of Tenchi Masaki". I mean, it's all very well and good dilly-dallying around like a loose wotsit, but it doesn't make the story go very far.

(I did tell you this wasn't a story but a truth, didn't I?)

So, the main reason this chapter's called "The Disappearance of Tenchi Masaki" is because Tenchi, disappears. Let me explain. No, let this explain....

__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _   
| SRI SYADASTI SYADAVAKTAVYA |   
| SYADASTI SYANNASTI SYADASTI |  
| CAVAKTAVYASCA SYADASTI |  
| SYANNASTI SYADAVATAVYASCA |  
| SYADASTI SYANNASTI SYADAV |  
| |  
| - FNORD |   
|_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ | 

Warning: The above stamp is unofficial and unprecedented.  
The stamp is in no way affiliated to this story and is totally  
unrelated. It was an unfortunate accident that the stamp  
was stamped (and in such poor quality as well).  
Please ignore this stamp. As drawing attention to the above  
stamp would only want to make you read it. Which would be  
silly, as it is meaningless.  
Thank you for your time and ignoring the stamp and this  
message, which is drawing attention to the above stamp,  
which attention should not be drawn to.

Actually, that didn't do much explaining. So let's just skip ahead of the story a bit. To a point where things are getting considerably more interesting. And also strangely more explaining...

The group stared at the gaping hole in the ceiling. "My God!" cried Burton, spent machine-gun cases around his feet, "It's gone!"

Okaaaay. Perhaps that was a little too far.

"This is stupid," said Kiyone, whose sleeping partner was propped up against a chair, "Why can't we just go out there and do something?"

Washu looked intently through the gaping, broken glass maw of the patio window. She turned to Dr. Heinkel who was laying on his back in the middle of the pentagram. "Doktor," she asked, "Is there any way of dispersing this thing?"

Heinkel's eyes stayed closed. "Kleine Fraulein, der ist nein veeson vhy dat vould be vorthcoming."

"Couldn't you use your book to get rid of it?" she asked, "I'd guess that it's only a metaphysical manifestation using Zeta waves as a corporal basis."

The Doktor sat up. "You know of ze chemical imbalanze between Zeta manifestation on a temporal quantum plane?"

"I practically invented it," she said without pride.

"Incredible! A young girl of zo few years who understands ze principles of chemical Zeta imbalances. Do you by any chance know ze correlation between ze theory ov multiple tractation mathematics and ze infinite circle probability principle?"

"Pi to the power of minus seven million. Squared."

"Hoff course. Hoff course." The doktor stood up and began pacing to and fro between the pentagram's points. "Zen Müller's Cutthroat theory ist correct! Of course a dizpersion spell is applicable. IT _ IS_ SCIENCE!" He suddenly lunged and grabbed the petite scientist by the hand, "Danke! Danke!"

Everyone stared at the two doctors next to the occult floor symbol.

"And this helps us, how?" asked Ryoko.

Dr. Heinkel stopped shaking Washu's hand and looked at the Necronomicon that he had placed next to the pentagram before his lie-down.

"Ve may be able to banish ze monstrosity to it'z rightful home..."

The pentagram was no longer a pentagram when Dr. Heinkel had finished with it. It had been scuffed out and replaced with strange curved pentangle with a single eye inscribed in its centre.  
The incantation was a particularly long thing, although this time there was no need for blood, whistle or candles. All he needed was a single piece of cord.

Very carefully, he wound it around the forefinger's of both hands and brought those digits apart as far as the string would allow. Then, sitting cross-legged, he moved his fingers in a strange and slightly blurry pattern. There was a low gasp from the watchers as they realised this single line of thread had suddenly been turned into an intricate and perfectly crafted pentagon.

"Now comez ze clever part," said Dr. Heinkel as he continued.

"The principle is zat the creature can be banished by a zingle and very clever manipulation of mediaeval metaphysics, or magical scienze."

His fingers moved again, this time creating a strange shape that looked like it was made from three bits of string, but wasn't.

"To break down ze nature of reality itzelf iz very dangerous though," he said, his fingers moving rapidly, "One zlip of concentration and ve are all.... Scheist."

He looked down at the string in his fingers. It appeared to have more angles than sides. Then it had more sides than angles.

Then it had as many angles as the viewer wanted.

"Non-Euclidian Space is a ztupid thing to play with." he said absently, then with a fluid movement that belied his age, dived over the sofa and as far from the floor symbol as he could.

The entire ceiling collapsed in as something big and scaly came down through it.

There wasn't even enough time to gasp, before the thing was looking around, sniffing the air and generally being a bit of a mind-blowingly scary bugger.

A multitude of multi-faceted eyes turned to face Kiyone, who stood there with a dumb look on her face. Then the thing's wings began to flap, and the horrible thing lifted itself off the ground.

"OPEN FIRE!" someone screamed, and the air was suddenly alive with shouting as people realised that their guns were just out of reach, or in Adam's case, needed reloading.

The thing's 30 odd stone bulk rotated and its face stared at Ryoko, who just looked back in the sort of way that a deer looks at a oncoming lorry.

It was then that Tenchi leapt, light sword in hand and Spender charged forward, pistols loaded.

There was a brilliant smacking noise. The sort of noise you only hear in Kung-Fu movies, when the good guy lays a solid blow on a mischievous mook's solar plexus. Spender went flying. Through the kitchen wall.

Tenchi's saber flashed, and rather surprisingly, the beast dodged it. One of its six limbs went forward and slapped the beam weapon from its opponents hands. The item skittered along the floor and wedged itself under one of the chairs.

It was at this point that Tenchi realised that he was just a 17 year old boy, surrounded by alien women, being attacked by a beast which was so horrible that it's best not to describe, unarmed and wearing nothing more defensive than a colander. It wasn't that unlikely that his psyche broke down at that point and he suddenly broke out into hysterics. Then the Thing picked him up in its huge paw, placed him gingerly upon his back and flew, swiftly up through the hole it had come through, and out into the night's sky.

Frozen in a weird tableau, with dust from walls and ceilings floating in the air, the Masaki House inhabitants stood for a while. Then, breaking the silence, Spender stood up from the debris, dusted himself down and promptly fell over into unconsciousness.

When he awoke he found that the women were staring wide eyed at the whole. And Burton and Heinkel were too.

"Where's it taking him?" screamed Ayeka, pointing wildly.

Spender stood up again, and feeling slightly dizzy, sat down on the kitchen sink. "To the moon probably," he said, nursing his head.

"To the moon?" she suddenly went into hysterics again.

"He'll explode!" came Ryoko's anguished cry.

Spender shook his head, "I sincerely doubt that." He blinked to try and clear his vision. "It'll probably eat him before he gets anywhere near orbit."

He felt hands grab him by the neck, and someone trying to strangle him.

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" the strangler was repeating.

He batted away the hands and looked at Ayeka angrily. "Perhaps if you learnt that strangling involves pressure to the neck, you might do just that."

He pointed towards the door. "This calls for drastic action!" he cried.

"To the cars!"  
  
  
This line is an error. Please skip it.  
  
- - - - - - - - - -

Burton:- Next chapter we're off looking for Tenchi's corpse.

The Girls:- WHAT?!?!

Burton:- Not that there _is_ a cadaver.

Adams:- Is that trying to make them feel better or what?

Dr. Heinkel:- Vatch for it, you Üntermenschen hunds!

Spender:- Herr Doktor!

Dr. Heinkel: Zorry. *_Der Hakenkreuz Kreis... vollständig!_*

- - - - - - - - - -

COMING NEXT EPISODE:-

Rescue the monster and kill the kidnapped. That is right, isn't it? Our heroes finally get a spine and go on an exciting quest to mangle the Masaki Shrine monster, find Tenchi's twisted corpse and get absolutely legless on alcoholic beverages man was not meant to know...

WATCH! Ayeka attack an innocent child and try to strangle it. Once again without luck.

WINCE! as our heroes get drunk and pretend to be sober so as to stop Ryoko kicking them crapless.

LAUGH! as hilarious quips are cracked and barrels are scraped for the dregs of humour society.

BE AMAZED! as Mr. Whint and Mr. Kidd finally show themselves in a mindlessly trivial scene.

UNDERSTAND! the subtle intricacies that drag Spender and his rag-tag crew to Okayama, New York and beyond! 

BLINK! and you'll miss some of the most mind-bendingly inane moments, cameos and Illuminati puns to ever grace a fanfiction.

DON'T MISS OUT ON THE NEXT EXCITING INSTALLMENT OF:

ALIENS ATE MY BABYSITTER!

  
or   
CTHULHU MUYO : A STORY FOR THE WHOLE FAMILY 

Rated 'G' ; for Grotesque

- - - - - - - - - -

Eschew Obfuscation! The Call of Cthulhu RPG (on which this is based) is the property of Chaosium Inc. Tenchi Muyo is the sole responsibility of the company known as Pioneer. Cthulhu fhtagn, my brothers. Many characters and ideas are also based on Pagan Publishing's excellent supplement 'Delta Green', and it also has to be said that many Mythos monsters/characters are not from H.P Lovecraft but from other just as able writers. If I knew your names, guys, I'd write them but until I remember who from who… I'll just not take any niceties from people. Spender, Adams, Burton, Dr. Heinkel, and all those other characters are mine. Don't touch that Space Mead. Everything else is mine. Got it? If you don't, please, please, just perish. The world doesn't need more idiots.

- - - - - - - - - -

theRe are no subliminal mEssages in this paragraph. if there were, many would striVe to eradIcate it from this siteE. the question is: hoW would you react, if there were? would you caNcel all yOur readings of this fic? hoW would these subversive notations be removed?

Subliminal? I doubt it.


	5. Hunting the Hunter

CHAPTER V:-   
The Behemoth Hunters

  


"And from the deathly [unholy] blackness [night], shall fall a star.  
From that star shall be born [created] a new world, and a new king [master] will rise from the star.  
And the world shall be as dust [corpses]."  
- Attributed to the 'Book of Eibon' 

  


* * * * *

**France, June 9th 1945,  
Some miles outside Paris,**

The tent flap lifted and Captain Laws stepped through. Still chewing his GI gum, he cast a casual eye across the interior. The fold-up table sat in its centre, strewn with an assortment of maps, pencils and hastily scribbled orders. The two brass behind it sat there waiting; a Brit and an Intelligence guy.  
He gave a salute, "Captain Laws, 2nd Rangers."

The Brit nodded and the Intelligence officer pointed to the chair. "Captain. Sit, please. You've had a long drive."

Even before Laws had got himself comfortable, the Intelligence guy had begun talking. "You landed at D-Day, Captain?"  
"Omaha, yes."  
"Shitty operation."  
Laws made no move to answer. Finally, "I made it through. I'm just pleased for that, sir."  
"When I landed it was shitty." The Intelligence man looked at the table for a second, "What have you been doing for the past month?"  
"Mopping up those German units that don't realise their country's surrendered, sir. Nazis just don't seem to get they've lost."  
The Intelligence man looked at the Brit, who took a cigarette from an inside coat pocket and lit up.

"Take a look at this, Captain," said the Intelligence man. He picked up a paper from the table and tossed it to Laws. "It was decoded by British Intelligence yesterday. Relating to the use of German civilian units - codenamed Werewolf - to set in motion Aktion Gotterdammerung."  
Laws skimmed through the paper, giving it a cursory look. "I don't know what that means, sir."  
"It's an order, direct from Hitler before he died, saying that a certain incident that occurred earlier this year be repeated." he paused, "A doomsday device."

Laws looked up from the paper to whether the two men were joking. The Brit just sat there puffing on the cigarette, the Intelligence man sat stern-faced. "What sort of 'doomsday device'."  
This time the Brit spoke up. Not the cultured voice of an officer, but the down to Earth one of someone who'd been fighting in the front for the last few years, "Something happened at a place called, Naudabaum. Naudabaum Castle. The Jerries were using it for some kind of weapons testing. Apparently they buggered it up. It's directly mentioned in that order in your hands," He stabbed at the air with his cigarette, "Recreate the accident that occurred at Naudabaum Castle."  
"What was there?"  
"What wasn't there," said the Intelligence man, sharply. "Half the mountain it sat on is gone. A crater three miles wide, half a mile deep. Every single tree within five miles flattened."  
Laws stared at them. "The Krauts have something like this?"  
"Apparently so," said the Brit. He dropped the cigarette to the dirt and stamped on it. "But there they aborted the process before it went too far. Here they want to go the whole hog. What is it you say? The full nine yards?"  
"They leveled a mountain and that isn't _too far_?" Laws' mouth dropped. "Sirs, excuse me... but that's pure baloney. Why wouldn't they use a weapon like that in the front line?"

The two officers raised their eyes to him. "Captain," said the Brit, "What would you say if I told you that our three countries; Britain, America and Germany, during the course of, and before this war, have been investigating and attempting to apply the paranormal as a weapon of conflict. And also that the Germans have done _something _that allows them to wield a power that can probably destroy the world?"

Laws' brow screwed up in concentration. "I'd say you two were mad."

The Brit breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good. Because two years ago, I would have said the same thing. Welcome to the End Times, Captain."

* * * * * 

Ever-so-carefully, the front door opened. Outside, the darkness sat like an ever present spider, swallowing the surroundings in darkness like a whale consuming a Biblical fisherman and dampening the night's noise like a sponge that had been soaked in chloroform and slapped onto the face of an annoying child.  
With the finesse of a cinematic action hero, Spender forward rolled through the door way, guns at the ready, then tripped over his trench-coat and fell flat on his face. He was up within seconds, pistols scanning the tree line and the inky blackness. Upon finding that there was very little to point at, and no sign of the invisible tittering beast, he turned back to the door, "All clear."

Those inside the house stepped out. Adams and Burton walked out, weapons prepped for combat. They were followed by the shocked and ashen-faced residents. Ayeka's normally pale complexion was even whiter and Sasami couldn't stop shaking. Kiyone looked lighter than she normally was (although that could probably be attributed to dust) and Ryoko looked like she had been sent through a mangle, her pristine clothes ruined. The only two to have any semblance of being completely at ease were Washu and Mihoshi. Close on their heels was the hunched form of Dr. Heinkel, eyes darting around the area in not well hidden fear.

"Right," said Spender, "Now we're all here, we'd better run through a few things. We need to get to the car... if we split up, at least one of us will probably survive."  
"What about Tenchi?" asked Sasami quietly.  
Spender raised an eyebrow. "Who? Oh! The dead one! Well, we'll worry about him later."

The Masaki house residents' mouths dropped open as they glowered at him. "You mean to say," asked Ryoko, politely, "that Tenchi is dead?"  
"Oh, quite probably..." Spender noted how Ryoko's hands were clenching convulsively, "... Not dead... no, I'm sure he's fine..." He coughed, "The fact is that the monster's out there somewhere. They're funny like that, I mean once, when I was acting as advisor for the London Transport Police there was some giant spider thing that... well, I see you're not listening."  
"We're not," admitted Adams.  
"No. I noticed. What we need to do is split into pairs, get down to the car. Then once we've done that, we can kill this thing and find Tenchi's bod- erm, Tenchi. Sound fair?"  
The Masaki residents gave half-hearted nods, the Investigators shaking their heads.  
"Let's get groups sorted out. The two policewomen can go together-"  
"NO!" screamed Kiyone. Everyone looked at her. "I mean, no. I think that we should... spread our resources better."  
Spender shrugged. "Just sort yourselves out then."

After a few seconds of pushing and shoving, a result was reached (which is obvious really, because anything is a result... even if it didn't work). Spender found himself paired up with Kiyone. Sasami and Burton teamed up because, as Burton put it, "This girl needs protecting." Followed by the sounds of someone slapping a NATO standard ammunition magazine into an M16 assault rifle.  
Heinkel found Washu to be more than interesting in the intellectual department, and the pair found themselves left alone to talk about Quantum Mechanics and Bio-Electronic Metaphysics. Adams seemed perfectly happy to pair up with Mihoshi (eliciting a warning glance from Spender).

"Why do I have to be with this daemon?" cried Ayeka as she realised that the last unpicked partner was her arch-nemesis.  
"I'm sure you can be swapped with Mihoshi." said Spender, "Adams would love to have you as a partner."  
Ayeka shut up. Spender turned to them all, "Now... I know we haven't voted for any leaders on this. So I'm taking charge of this situation, at least until we get to the car. Here's what we're going to do... Kiyone and I will go and check on this 'Grandfather' Sasami keeps going on about. The rest of you will fan out and make your own ways down to the car. It's unlocked, so when you reach it, wait in it. And don't mess with the seats. It took us ages to get them at the right angles for driving." He raised the pistols, "If you meet it on the way down, and you can, then kill it. Kiyone says that she and Mihoshi have got some kind of Star Wars laser guns. Burton, Adams, just blow it crapless. Herr Doktor, run away from it. You two," he pointed at Ryoko and Ayeka, "I can't remember your names... _ you_ can make your funny light-saber thing and chop it up, and _ you_ can make those floating logs of death that you did on Adams.  
"Let's get this show on the road."

Spender didn't really like stairs. It was just one of those little idiosyncrasies in his character. He didn't like steep stairs at all. So when he found that the steps leading up to the Shrine were vast, steep, stone things that disappeared into the gloom, it took a lot of will to even get started. Kiyone had to slow down to let the man keep up with her. It didn't help that he was wearing an easily tripped over trench coat.  
Eventually, they reached the top. Kiyone, still with a spring in her step, waited for Spender to trudge the last few steps. He sat down on the grass by the path, under the trunk of a tree. Up ahead, he could see the Shrine's lights shining through the leaves of the wood all around him.  
"Are you ok?" she asked, as he gasped for breath.  
"Fine," he muttered, "Never better." He stood up and slid the guns back into the holsters at the small of his back. The pair continued walking down the dirt path toward the Shrine, Kiyone's blaster in hand. Spender kept an appraising eye on her. You never know, he decided, he might have a chance... If he made a good impression.  
"So," he said, finally, "Kiyone..." He faltered, wondered what to say. Then, "That's a nice... bandana you're wearing."  
"Nobody's made any mention of it before," said Kiyone, eyes still fixed on the darkness ahead.  
Spender thought about this for a second, and settled on a different chat-up line. "So, you're a space police... person, then?"  
"Galaxy Police."  
"And what is it that Galaxy Police people do?"  
She looked at him. "Arrest things. Sometimes kill them."  
Spender puffed out his chest, "Oh! We have something in common! Except I don't arrest things."  
Kiyone stopped walking and looked him up and down. In the darkness, Spender couldn't see her face, but she seemed amused... at least, he hoped it was just amused. "Shall we get back to killing the monster now?" she asked.  
Spender shrugged and she turned back to the path. "Not unless you fancy a roll in the grass," he muttered under his breath.  
The Galaxy Police Detective stopped and span around to face him, "What did you say?"  
"Er... I hope this thing isn't made of glass."

She raised an eyebrow in the darkness and then returned to her walking. "Riiiiiight."  
Then the pair of them stopped. The semi-visible thing, which was now blood red from its earlier supplication, grinned at them from a few yards down the path.  
"All yours, Officer," Spender said, taking a step back.  
"Detective," corrected Kiyone, following his lead.  
"Erm, Kiyone," hazarded Spender, as the two continued walking backwards, "Aren't you going to shoot it?"  
The Detective sped up her back-pedaling. "My trigger finger's frozen... and my legs won't stop."  
"Oh, that's normal," replied Spender, nearing the edge of the steps back down the hill. Ahead of them the monster still sat there. It had begun its strange tittering. "On three, how about we both run for it?"  
"Sounds fine." Kiyone said.

"One..." started Spender. The beast charged at them, and Spender and Kiyone fell down the Shrine steps.

At the top of the steps, the monster sat, listening to the steady crump, crump, crump, as the two meatlings hit the steps as they tumbled. It sat there and listened carefully, counting the sounds of flesh hitting stone.

217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 222, 223, 224, 225...

Silence followed. Then, very quietly, from the bottom of the steps was a solitary voice... "Two."

_( And back in the future, Captain Laws has the most terrifying three months of life... Facing things that beggar belief. And the gibbering Germans who call them up and throw them against the American unit fight tooth and nail to bring about their own deadly release.)_

**THE END TIMES** n.  
The point at which the stars will be right and the Great Old Ones will awaken from their eternal slumber, to walk the human land. And mankind will revel in madness and killing and the joy of unchecked boundaries, until their demise at the hands of ultimate evil.

As the glittering orb of Earth spins across the cosmic void, every day brings it closer to the dawning of the terminal era. Across its pitted and cracked exterior, the first signs of death begins to shine. Riots in Belgrade, suicides in Washington, an increase in Tokyo disappearances.  
In Cape Town, two boys are found half-eaten by something which reduced the only witness to a catatonic dementia. In the North Atlantic, Greenland's Coast Guard finds an abandoned trawler, the deck awash with green slime and algae. No proof of why the crew had vanished apart from a sentence carved into the vessel's galley wall, "They're here."  
Under the baking deserts of Australia, a lost city's inhabitants begin to stir. Murder Rates the world over quadruple. Cases of insanity and resulting admissions into asylums increases by ninety percent. The Maori of New Zealand begin foretelling of the finale. A man in Charles de Gaul International Airport breaks down in terror at a sudden mental revelation of imminent terror... the fiftieth to do so in France that week.  
In Israel, tanks are moved into Apocalypse after yet another night of bombings.

The fate of the world hangs on a slender thread.

Ryoko and Ayeka walked the path down to the path to the main entrance with only slightly less enthusiasm than a Tourette Syndrome sufferer has for public speaking. The casual malice and spite towards each other had been dropped for introspective worry about Tenchi and themselves. Plus killing that English bastard who'd got them into this trouble in the first place, although that proved to be simmering in the backs of their minds rather than coming to the fore.  
"Why didn't I just kill him?" moaned Ryoko. She stopped by the edge of the road and punched a tree. Her fist passed right through and out the other side, leaving a large hole. A surprised squirrel fell from the branches and scurried away upon seeing the still annoyed Space Pirate take out some more aggression on a second birch. This one collapsed with ample ease.  
Ayeka stopped and looked at her. "Would you stop being so loud!" she hissed, "If we get to the car, we'll be able to find Tenchi. But if you keep being so noisy, I doubt we'll ever get there!"  
Ryoko pulled a face. "Scared of some monster, eh, Princess? I've called up worse with my gems."  
"You looked amply scared when that... that... _thing_ appeared." Ayeka replied. She pulled her kimono a little tighter against her to ward off the night's chill. "And I didn't see you trying to stop it. Or that daemon that took Tenchi."  
"Whatever happens, I'm gonna stop that Spender," said Ryoko. The Pirate rested her hand against another tree and leant against it.  
"Oh Tenchi..."

"Ryoko," hissed Ayeka.  
Ryoko looked up. The Princess was standing still, staring at something further down the road. "What is it?" asked Ryoko.  
"Ssshhh!" hushed Ayeka. Creeping closer to the pirate, she pointed at the darkness. "There's something down there."  
"One of the others?"  
"It didn't look human..." the Princess stated.  
Ryoko gave a half laugh, "Probably Washu then!" Ayeka flashed her a vile look. "What? What? I'm not allowed to be funny anymore?"  
"If you were funny in the first place," snapped Ayeka, "We wouldn't need to worry."  
Ryoko opened her mouth to say something, when the thing further down the path began moving. The two women turned to look at it. "Azaka?" asked Ayeka as it drifted closer. No answer. "Kamidake?"  
The shape stopped.  
"I don't think it's them," said Ryoko. She raised her hand, the glowing yellow ball of energy already filling her palm. Ayeka held her ground, readjusted her headband.  
The shape began its movement, drifting slowly towards them. It gave a shrill giggle.

Ryoko's energy blast flicked toward it. There was an explosion, dust and leaves kicked up from the road. The shockwave radiated outwards, billowed at the womens' hair and clothes, and then just as suddenly passed them. Ayeka ran a hand through her hair, to resettle it. "For once your method of shooting things appears to have paid off." She looked at Ryoko. But the pirate didn't answer.  
The thing sat there in the centre of the crater, now more visible than it had been. A mass of lumpy veins and tubular things crisscrossed its skin, vast patches of bulbous lumps and mottled blood red flesh. If you could call it flesh. The beast's chitinous, bony beak opened to reveal the wormlike cluster of veiny, warty appendages that writhed in its maw. It gave another, more angry, titter. Now, viewable, it could be noted that it did not float, but waddled along on its vast bulk; as it had to be as big as the average man, if not a few inches taller.  
The two female aliens' mouths dropped in perfect unison as the thing continued onward.  
"Shoot it again," said Ayeka dryly.  
Another blast of energy sprang forth, rocketed the six yards to the creature and exploded in a ball of flame. This time Ayeka didn't bother to put her hair right, and just watched as the thing shook itself like a dog, then took more steps forward.

"Do you want to try your 'Logs of Death'?" asked Ryoko. She fired off another shot. The thing staggered back a few feet, but got back up.  
"I'd rather run." Ayeka said, as the thing's mouth opened yet again. This time the tentacles jabbed and slobbered against the edges of the beak, as though it were licking its lips.  
"I'm with you." replied Ryoko. They turned and ran, or in the case of Ryoko, flew, back the way they had come. Behind them the rounded creature suddenly sped up in a lolloping gallop.  
The two woman sped up their run for the border when the steady clump of the the thing behind them grew louder. Ayeka hazarded a look over her shoulder, and wished she hadn't. In the gloom, the rolling mass of flesh was only three or four yards behind them, and gaining ground. Unlike its meal, the monster didn't appear to be bothered by lack of breath or exhaustion. Suddenly, something grabbed hold of Ayeka's arm, and she felt herself being dragged off the path. "This way!" growled Ryoko, and they stumbled into the even darker scrub and woodland.

Branches and twigs slapped their faces as they careened through the greenery. Behind them there was the snapping and tittering of the thing as it kept up its chase. It seemed to be slower in this environment though, as compared to the openness of the dirt path. Then again, so where Ryoko and Ayeka, so it wasn't as much a silver-lining as it could have been.  
"Why must I suffer these indignations?" moaned Ayeka. She hopped over a knee high branch, her kimono catching on it. The hem ripped off. "I'm not meant to have these problems!"  
Ryoko phased through a tree in front of her. "Perhaps somebody up there doesn't like you."  
"Well someone down _here_ doesn't like you!" growled Ayeka.  
From behind them there was a loud bang. Then the sound of their purser stopped for a few seconds before restarting.  
"Guess it fell over," Ryoko said with a smile, "That should give us more time."

They weren't expecting to burst out into a clearing. Jutting out from its centre was a large brick garage. It was, in fact, the garage that Tenchi's father parked his car in, as it was far enough from the main road to keep it safe, and close enough to the house to walk to.   
The two alien women had come out opposite the point where the garage door met the gravel path, which in turn led out and onto the main road.  
Without pausing they ran toward the construct. Aside from the main door, their was also a man-sized wooden door, and as they drew closer Ayeka had the sudden terrified thought that it might be locked. She need not have worried, as it exploded barely a second later, sending shards of smoking wood and metal scattering across the area. Ryoko lowered her hand and phased through the wall next to the hole. Ayeka stuck with using the door shaped opening. Well, it was the only thing she could do. 

The tittering, sore, hunger and pissed off beast broke from the trees, took one look around and noted that its supper had obviously gone in to that squat geometric Euclidean-following building. It set off toward it...

_ For all intents and purposes, they had already won._

* * * * *

  


** (SECRET / NOFORN )**

**Office of the Department of the Navy  
USS Canberra  
Pacific Fleet  
FPO 30256-8000**

**MEMORANDUM FOR: Director of Naval Intelligence, Washington DC  
SUBJECT: Disappearance of crewmen, 15 Aug 2001, USS Canberra (S)**

**1. (C) From 10 to 15 of August 2001, the LA class submarine USS Canberra conducted training maneuvers around the eastern coast of Japan (Longitude and Latitude redacted). Running at a depth of 200 meters and an average speed of 10 knots, the crew was ordered to engage in silent running, monitoring with passive sonar only. At 0837 Zulu, the sonar operator reported a sudden disturbance around the Canberra. He could hear sounds from what appeared to be multiple, large animals swimming around the vessel.**

**2. (S / NOFORN) 200 meters is far too deep for dolphin or shark activity. I took over from the sonar operator and listened to the sounds being made by the animals, which were totally unlike the noise of dolphins or any other submarine animals I have heard. Recordings will corroborate the noise, which was a series croaking and guttural coughs much like that of frogs. One of the animals scraped alongside the side of the hull and I feared that the creature might be sucked into the screws - killing it and most likely damaging the Canberra. I therefore ordered the operator to begin 'pinging' the animals in order to disperse them.**

**3. (S / NOFORN) Instead of dispersing the animals, they appeared to become agitated, resulting in an increase in their croaking. These could be heard throughout the entirety of the Canberra, startling the crew. I ordered the sonar operator to increase the volume of the pings and. once again, this failed to have the desired effect. Scraping and metallic clanging could be heard the length of the craft, and it was twenty seconds into this, the rear galley suffered from a hull breach.**

**4. (S / NOFORN) Taking on water from the hole, crew in the area managed to close bulkheads, sealing off the afflicted room. The Canberra managed to surface without due problems and I was able to aid in the investigation into the damage to the galley. The entire width of the hull had been torn open, and it is only fortunate that when surfaced the galley is above sea-level. Of the four crewmen and the cook who were in the galley at the time of the incident, nothing can be found. All are missing presumed drowned. It has been attributed to an unfortunate accident, which I and my colleagues believe occurred when the animals were dragged along the hull. It is probable the creatures might have been whales or other large aquatic animals, as I have since been informed that this sort of incident involving a large whale occurred once around twenty-three years ago, although with no serious damage to the submarine.**

**5. (S / NOFORN) Upon returning to Okinawa, Japan, reports were filed on the nature of the accident. It was only after describing what had occurred to the Base Commander that I was ordered to write this ONI memorandum. Apparently such an unusual incident must be immediately forwarded to the Office of Naval Intelligence. As this order dates back to 1FEB 1928, I wonder why such an ancient mandate hasn't been rescinded, but I assume no one's run across it in years and the Department has simply forgotten about it.**

**6. (U) POC is the undersigned.**

**Undersigned: Commander Peter Davies**

* * * * *

**(TOP SECRET / ORCON / NOFORN)**

**Office of the Department of the Navy  
Office of Naval Intelligence  
Washington DC 2235-7263**

**MEMORANDUM FOR: EYES ONLY Commander Davies, USS Canberra  
SUBJECT: Immediate Action (U)**

**1. (S / ORCON) This memorandum is only to be read by Commander Peter Davies, USS Canberra. Once committed to memory, this document is to be destroyed.**

**2. (S / NOFORN) Effective immediately all tape recordings, sonar reports and crew statements are to be reclassified TOP SECRET / KINSMAN. All such reports, tapes, computer disks and other notes pertaining to the incident described are to be remanded to the security of the Base Commander. An envoy from the Office of Naval Intelligence will depart tomorrow afternoon to collect these materials.**

**3. (TS / ORCON) You are to immediately recall any crewmembers on pass and tell them the following; the incident that occurred was attributed to an experimental low-noise submarine probe being tested in the same area as the Canberra. The probe was remote controlled, but unfortunately came too close to your own craft and was dragged along the hull. The probe was being developed for the Defense Department and therefore has TOP SECRET clearance. The probe's test crew are being investigated for serious misconduct resulting in the loss of government property and life. Your crew is to discuss this incident with no one, not even among themselves, to minimize leaks to hostile intelligence services working in the area.**

**4. (TS / ORCON) I should not have to remind you that your Top Secret clearance as a Commander in the Navy does not give you special access to the KINSMAN program. You are to talk to no one about this incident, except personnel cleared by this office. If you notice anything out of the ordinary, or are talked to by anybody asking about or attempting to talk about the KINSMAN program or the event on 15AUG, contact the Office of Naval Intelligence immediately.**

**5. (TS / ORCON) Lieutenant Commander Joseph Clarke will arrive tomorrow from an ONI facility on the Japanese mainland to debrief both you and your sonar operator. Once debriefed you are to forget all knowledge of the KINSMAN program. I realize that the steps above may prove surprising for a simple accident, but until you are read on to KINSMAN, you are to keep the event on 15AUG quiet.**

**Undersigned: [Redacted]**

* * * * *

  


Ayeka and Ryoko had found what they hoped would be the perfect hiding place. It involved crouching behind the blue people carrier that was owned by the middle-aged Noboyuki Masaki and peering over the bonnet to keep an eye on the large door shaped hole in the wall.  
"What's Tenchi's dad's car doing here?" asked Ryoko suddenly.  
Ayeka made no move to answer. "Well?" Ryoko asked and prodded the princess in the ribs.  
"Ow! What do you mean, monster-woman?" squeaked Ayeka. She turned to look at the pirate.  
"I thought he was on a business trip. Why's his car here?"  
"A colleague collected him on Wednesday." Ayeka gave a haughty look, "You wouldn't remember it. You were passed out on the sofa."  
Ryoko nodded. "Four day weekends. Gotta love 'em." Ayeka just rolled her eyes and looked back at the door. 

"I can't see it," she said eventually.  
"Have you thought it might be invisible again?"  
"Maybe it's gone."  
Ryoko gave a feline grin. "Maybe it's waiting outside for you."  
"If you are trying to frighten me, then you are failing," replied Ayeka. She stood up and opened the front passenger's door, then got in.  
The space pirate rose as well and looked at Ayeka, who was staring out of the car window at her. "What are you doing?"  
"You may be failing to scare me, but that thing isn't," came Ayeka's muffled voice through the glass. She pointed behind Ryoko.  
With surprising skill Ryoko jumped onto the hood of the car and dived forward, just as slimy semi-visible tentacle things whipped at the place where she'd just been. She turned around and looked at the creature. "Eep," she said, rather uncharacteristically.

The hunched, glassy shape opened its mouth and lunged forward, clambering onto the car's front. Ryoko didn't wait around to see what happened next, as she was already phasing through the car door and into the driver's seat.

* * * * *

"Well this is just great," muttered Adams under his breath. "I get all the good jobs don't I? Bloody reporter and I spend my time," he gave a another quick tug, "Dragging policeman's bodies about." He dragged the corpse the last few steps down to the car and dropped the cadaver.  
The women by the police car and the Investigator's transporter looked at the corpse in surprise. "I-Is... that..." stammered Sasami.  
"No. It's a bag of potatoes," cut in Adams. "Give me a hand with this Burton."

The muscular New Yorker sauntered over, and between them they dragged the exsanguinated corpse over to the other side of the road. There was a steep incline, that led down into further trees and shrubbery. The pair gave a hearty count of three and then tossed the body over the edge. It cart wheeled down the bluff, bouncing off saplings and small trees before disappearing into the mass of forest fifty feet below. "I hate doing that," said Adams. He rubbed his hands on his trousers and turned to the women by the cars, "Don't you?"  
Mihoshi stared at them, "Is that legal here? Because if this was outside the Sol System I'd have to arrest you."

The two Investigators looked at each other. "Well, it's legal in New York," Burton replied.

* * * * *

The horrible, salivating monster sat on the car's bonnet staring in at them. Ayeka and Ryoko could do little but look at its partially opaque bulk bounced up and down, setting the entire vehicle shaking. Dribble and moisture splashed against the windscreen. "We're going to die, aren't we?"  
"Only if it works out it can break through the glass," answered Ryoko. The pair were pushed as far back against their seats as they could be.  
The beast stopped its bouncing and paused, then it raised itself to its full height and brought its head down on the windscreen. There was a resounding crack and a spider web of lines traced the glass. Ayeka glared at the woman sitting next to her. "Thank you very much, Ryoko. Next time don't be so helpful!"  
Through the ragged cracks, the two could see the monster shake itself down. It seemed to have hurt itself head butting the screen. It raised its head again, but this time brought its beak down on the glass. More webs crawled across the surface.  
"Ryoko! Stab it!" shrieked Ayeka. She raised her arms to cover her face as tiny dots of glass, the size of sugar crystals, broke off from the force of the battery and took flight. Ryoko also raised her hands up, more as a reflex than any real act of defence.  
"You think my sword's going to do something?!" she cried out. A larger flake of glass flicked from the windscreen and whizzed past her ear to embed in the chair, "If those blasts didn't hurt it, how's the sword meant to?!" She ducked as another wad of glass spiralled toward her.

The creature stopped for a moment to get its bearings, and the two women looked at each other. Ayeka opened her mouth, then shut it again. Then she opened it again, only to repeat its original act.  
"What?" hissed Ryoko. The pummeling on the glass became more insistent.  
Ayeka blushed. "I- I'm sorry."  
The Pirate's eyes widened, "What?" she said again.  
"I'm sorry. For all the ignorant things I said to you," Ayeka said more forcefully. She lowered her arm from her face and looked at the floor. "That was easier to say than I thought."

A tiny hole appeared in the windscreen's centre. The tip of the thing's beak pushed through, then pulled out to continue its hammering.

Ryoko stared at the Princess, ignoring the splinters flitting around her. "I... guess I'm sorry too," she said. She reached out and took hold of Ayeka's arm. Its owner gave no objection, and Ryoko realised how warm it was...  
Ayeka turned her eyes to Ryoko's and there was something there, some strange little flicker of... something.

The beak pressed through the hole in the windscreen, the writhing tongues wriggling out from it to reach a few inches into the car.

The two women moved closer, Ryoko wrapping her arms around Ayeka's waist. They pressed even closer, their lips growing nearer.  
"I'm sorry," muttered Ayeka as their mouths closed on one another.

Then there was a cough behind them, and a soft, amused voice intoned, "Excuse me ladies. But would you mind parting your heads for a second?"  
Their heads did more than part, they span around to look toward the back of the car, and just in time to be blinded by a brilliant flash and deafened by a terrific bang and to hear the sound of a bullet passing between them.

The thing, which had at that moment been pushing its head further into the car, fell backwards off the bonnet. It hopped back up, surprised at the bullet wound in its cheek, gave a piercing shriek and fled out the cavity in the wall.

Both Ryoko and Ayeka blinked furiously trying to clear the white from their eyes. They still had purple and green squiggles in their vision when they reopened them. Spender was sitting in the back seat, holding one of his pistols. Beside him sat a bewildered looking Kiyone.  
"How long have you been there?" roared Ryoko.  
Spender pulled an embarrassed smile. "Looks like we both picked the same spot to hide in, eh?"  
"Why didn't you tell us you were here?"  
The embarrassment changed to wild amusement, "I was having too much fun." He continued his smiling and raised an eyebrow.  
"This didn't just happen," said Kiyone.  
"It didn't," replied Ayeka. She gave a cough. "Can we get out of here now?"  
Spender holstered the pistol. "I'll drive." He grinned, "Unless you two want to stay in the front, of course?"

* * * * *

"It was one of those stressful situation things," nodded Ryoko. She was sitting in the back of the car with Kiyone. "You'll back me up on this won't you Kiyone? People get stressed and do stupid stuff, right?"  
The car was bumping down the path, doing seventy. Apparently Spender was a bit of a speed freak when it came down to it.  
"Yeah. Stress," muttered Kiyone. She gave the pirate a funny look, but said nothing more.

* * * * *

Down by the side of the main road, the others were standing around waiting. "Where the hell are they?" snapped Adams  
"Dead probably," Burton said. He picked at his teeth with a toothpick he'd found in the Investigator's car's map-holder. Adams watched him. "That's disgusting," he said finally. He turned back to the path that led up to the Masaki residence. "Five minutes, then we leave 'em here."

The blue people-carrier careened out of the drive, skidded and came to rest at right angles to the way it had come out. The driver's door opened and the trench coat donning Spender stepped out. He jerked a thumb at the car, "Sorry I'm late. The stress was incredible."  
The others stared at him.  
He rolled his eyes. "Never mind." He walked over to the police car and stared at it. "Anyway, we don't need the guns and stuff. We killed it. Well... I killed it. What's this thing parked here for?"  
"It's the car that carried the policemen up here," said Burton.  
"The dead ones?"  
"They probably weren't when they got here."  
Spender nodded. Turned to the group, "We're going to need to get rid of this. Then we can go down the pub."  
Adams, Burton and Dr. Heinkel (the last of which had been talking to Washu, but stopped at the mention of the word pub), nodded to each other, then walked over to the Investigator's car.

"Wait a minute," called Washu. The men stopped, "What about Tenchi?"  
Spender looked at her, "Who?"  
"The boy who the monster took," replied Sasami.  
"We just killed the monster."  
"The OTHER monster."  
Spender looked taken-aback. He gave a quizzical glance at the other Investigators then turned to Sasami, "Other monster? Well... I don't... JESUS CHRIST! Look at the time! The pubs'll be shut soon!" He turned back to his car.

Ryoko and Ayeka glowered at him with barely suppressed lust for homicide. They were also between the Investigators and their car.  
"You're not going anywhere," stated Ryoko.  
"Until we get Tenchi back," Ayeka completed.  
Spender looked at them. "And what if I said 'No'?"  
"Then I'll take this beam sword," Ryoko held up the orange blade, "And I will gut you like a fish. And I'll be laughing at the little girly screams you make."  
"I find that quite unlikely. I scream like a teenage boy."  
Ryoko started toward him. "But!" Spender called out, "I'm sure we can reach a compromise." Ryoko slowed down, but didn't halt. Her eyes were smiling, but her mouth was not. Taking steps back, Spender continued, "We will help search for your missing... Tenchi. The monster's most likely dropped him in the nearest town... what is it? Kurashika."  
The Space Pirate stopped. "If we don't find him. I'll kill you."

"That's fair," said Adams. So Spender walked over and kicked him in the groin.

It took little time to sort out the car situation. Spender would drive the Tenchi's father's people carrier, Adams would ride shotgun with Ayeka, Ryoko, Mihoshi, Kiyone, Sasami and Washu in the back. Apparently they didn't like the idea of the two Investigators having a chance to escape. The hire car that had carried the Investigator's to their present problem was commandeered by Heinkel and Burton. The procession set off within minutes in the, now morning, darkness. Spender's car leading, the empty police car in the middle, being pushed along, bumper to fender, by Burton's vehicle.  
The collection weaved its way around the roads that lay between the woody, hilly either sides. The thing was that the area was actually very sloped. To the right of the road was a thirty degree, forested incline. To the left was the forty or fifty degree slope, that gave a rather endearing view down to a vast carpet of tree tops. Probably not very endearing if you fell off it, of course, but that's a matter of taste.

Twenty minutes into the drive and Spender was humming. Not anything particularly tuneless, nor anything particularly tuneful. He was just humming. It always happened when he felt happy, or when he was coming down off an adrenaline buzz. Today's reason was, unsurprisingly, the latter. To make sure no one was taking any objection to it, he checked the rear-view mirror. Six pairs of eyes looked back at him. He stopped humming.  
"What we need," he said, realising what was missing, "Is music. Does anyone object to music?"  
No one seemed bothered. Underneath the car radio, in a chamber beneath the cigarette lighter and the heating dials, was a collection of CDs. He picked through them and, keeping one eye on the road, looked at their covers.  
"We've got the White Album, the Blue Album... Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club... album again." He rifled through the small stack, and pulled a random one out, "Pink Floyd -"  
"eXperimantal," said Adams.  
Spender continued unabated, "Let It Be... Abbey Road... Hmmm." He twisted in his seat to look over his shoulder. "Tenchi's father's really got an affinity for -"  
"eXperimental," repeated Adams.  
Spender looked at him. "No. The Beatles."  
"eXperimental."  
"What are you talking about?"  
Adams gave an annoyed tut, "eXperimental! It's the new-wave punk-rock pop-indie nu-metal heavy base band. It's number one in the charts."  
Spender looked back out the rear window to make sure Burton and the police car was following, and finding it was, returned his view to the road. "What's it like?" he asked.  
"Well," said Adams. He thought about what to say, "It's like indie. But not. And it's pop-rock. But it's not. And it's got a bit of something that isn't punk and has nothing to do with nu- or death-metal."  
"Okay. Give it a whirl... if no one objects." Spender looked back at the rear-view mirror. No one appeared to.

Adams took the CD from his inside jacket pocket, which garnered a surprised look from Spender. Even so, he still took it, and after looking at the cover (a beautifully drawn picture of someone eating his own intestines) he pushed the CD into the player. He slapped the play button.

About four minutes later, he pressed the eject button. "We can stop that now," he said, pointedly. Everyone in the back breathed a sigh of relief.  
Adams stopped his gyrating, "But it was just getting to the nu-metal bit!"  
"Adams. In case you haven't noticed, it sounds like someone banging a bucket with a rake and wailing into the microphone. It's awful. It is now out."  
The newspaper reporter stared at him in shock, "But-"  
"Beatles," cut in Spender.  
"But-"  
"Less talk. More Beatles."  
Adams mouth opened and shut like a goldfish's. "But it's new-wave indie-punk -"  
He stopped speaking when Spender took the CD from the player, wound down his window, and then chucked the offending item out. "It's all those things, yes. And it's also out the window. Wave goodbye to it Adams. You won't be seeing it again."  
Adams followed the shining disc's flight with sad interest. "I think it just took the head off a squirrel," he quipped.

It was then that the bloodied, mangled squirrel corpse bounced off the windscreen, and the bloody-minded invisible monster, that was now REALLY peeved, dropped down onto the roof of the car.

* * * * *

** Sweden, At that moment,  
Inside the TOFREE-ILLUMINATION & POWER HQ, The Meeting Room**

"And as for the budget for the escalating of tension between Pakistan and India, does anyone have any complaints about giving it another twenty million?"  
The Man looked at the rest of the men and women down the table. No one seemed to be too bothered, apart from a certain Indian multi-millionaire and weapons broker. Of course, he wouldn't speak up. He knew better to complain about something as trivial as that.  
"Now. Next on today's agenda," said The Man, "Is the report on the continuation of our concentration camps in New England." He picked up the next paper from the folder in front of him and looked at it. He paused. "Josef. This isn't the report on the camps..."

Twenty-three pairs of eyes turned to look at the white haired boy with the earphones, who was leaning against one of the Meeting Room's walls. He lifted his earphone, "Sir?"  
"Why do I have a report on something called 'eXperimental'?" asked The Man. He held up the piece of paper.  
"Oh. That." Josef walked around the table, and took the sheet. "Ah, well. You told me to find some way of increasing our budget without increasing criminal activities... arms deals, drug selling, bank robbing, skimming the money off taxes -"  
"I know what we do Josef."  
"Well, sir. I took half a million dollars and made a band. People are so stupid these days, they'll buy any type of music. We've already got one album out and it's reached number one... and it made over ten million back in the first month."  
"That is quite impressive." said The Man. The other people down the table all nodded in agreement. "But what does this mean?" He tapped the report.  
Josef swallowed. "We'd like to take out another half a million to make another album. Fleece them of their hard-earned cash, sir. Fill our coffers. Bring the cash rolling in. Swell -"  
"Thank you, Josef." He looked at the rest of the Illuminators, "Does anyone object to half million being given for this eXperimental thing? No one? Very well, Josef. Here's your money." He handed the boy a hastily scribbled cheque.  
"Thank you sir," beamed Josef. He took off out the Meeting Room as fast as he could.  
The Man turned back to his group, "Now. Mr. Gates... how's the new and more insidious version of Windows coming along?"  
"Just some more bugs to put in, master."

* * * * *

Josef took the lift down to sub-basement 10, ran to room T301, and barged through the door. "Great news," he panted, waving the pay slip, "I've got another half a million."  
The other man in the room stepped away from the microphone and looked at him. "That's great!" He held up the rake in his hands. "But before we start recording, we'd better buy a new bucket. I've beaten the crap out of this one."

* * * * *

"Now ladies and gentlemen of the Cult of Transcendence. We have finished this month's meeting." The Man stood up, closely followed by the rest of those at the table. "However," he continued, "We have a special treat for this occasion."  
The other people looked at each other in surprise.  
"As today, is the beginning of the End Times."

The group gasped. "What?!" cried someone at the end.

The Man raised his hands to quiet the growing hubbub. "Yes, yes! I know! It's a bit of a shock to be informed that our plan has finally reached fruitation! But it has!" He held his arms aloft, "Oh Great One! Envoy of the Master Sultan! Answer and heed your children's calls! Be here now!"

There was a thunderclap. A lazy puff of smoke grew at the far end of the room, and a rather handsome looking twenty-something in jeans and tee-shirt stepped out of its whispy coils. The man looked at the group, then walked over to the table and sat down in an empty chair, apparently left for his personal use. Everyone near him shuffled away.   
"Yeah, yeah, yadda yadda, Stars are Right, End Time's here. Plans at fruitation. Cthulhu's awakening. All true." said the jeans-wearer. He snapped his fingers, took the cigarette that appeared floating in mid-air and put it in his mouth. He lit it with another snap of his fingers.

"Oh Chaos! We bow down to you!" crooned The Man. He and the rest of the group knelt down and bowed their heads in awe.  
Chaos took a drag on his cigarette, then spat out a massive smoke ring. "That's right. Grovel like the dogs you are." He propped his feet up on the nearby, bowing, form of the Head of the United State's Defence Department. He waited for another couple of minutes, then, "Alright, enough worshipping at my godlike powers. What's up?"

The Man raised himself and sat back in his chair. "Oh master Chaos... We called upon you to ask whether the time of the Great Devourer was upon us..."  
"In that case," replied Chaos, "Yes. It is."  
"And also to ask as to whether this truly was the End Times..."  
"Yes to that again."  
"And," continued The Man, "As to whether the evil, traitorous scum, those not worthy to lick clean your buttock crevice, the infidels, the plebeians-"  
Chaos flicked cigarette ash across the table, "Can we get on with it? I've got a meeting with the Centre of the Universe in twenty minutes."  
"Yes, master. Sorry master. Have the group of Cthulhu's worshippers, known as the 'Holistic Order of the Sea' awakened their sickening master?"  
The cigarette smoking, jeans wearing emissary of the Outer Gods looked at him. "Do you see screaming masses of refugees pouring from coastal towns?"  
"Erm... no, master."  
"Do you detect the strong scent of fish or other aquatic animals rolling across the beaches as the foul beasts begin their assault on mankind?"  
"I can't say that I do, master."  
"Well, do you see a big green mutha of a squid-man, eating some people, driving others insane, but all the while going 'ROOOOAR'?"  
The Man shook his head. "No, master."

"Well if that's the case, they haven't called him up... yet. However, I'd give you until Thursday before they do. Is anyone eating those donuts?" Before getting an answer, he reached across the table and grabbed the box of 'Dippin' Donuts'. "Now... I'd say you've got prepared pretty well... I mean, I didn't think you hairless, jumped up little monkeys would even have the intelligence to get this far." He chowed down on one of the donuts.  
"Thank you, master."  
"Don't flatter yourself." replied Chaos. He picked up another donut and ate that too, "You're still amoeba in my eyes. Multi-limbed amoeba, sure... but at least amoeba don't go mad just from seeing this..."

Everybody in the room closed their eyes, as the man's skin split open and fell off him. They opened their eyes again. The thing sitting there, with the massive tongue for a face swallowed another donut. "Anyway," it hissed, although it had no mouth, "Here's what we're going to do about Cthulhu, the Order... and Spender..." 

* * * * * 

INFO INSERT IV:-  
"The Two Cups Theory"

"I recommend continual psychiatric counseling for Mr. Leeward.   
He's suffering from severe post-traumatic stress, and he just keeps talking about flying mould." 

* * * * *

Sanity. What is it good for? It's one of those expendable things, like your appendix or your soul, isn't it? I mean, you haven't found any real use for it. You've probably joked about losing your mind, or being scared out of your wits, or something equally pithy.

Sorry to burst your bubble but that intangible thing called sanity is all that's keeping you alive. If you lost that, you're deader than if your heart had stopped. At least if you're dead you don't have to worry about doing something horrible.

Why is it that sanity plays a big part in the lives of those entwined in the so-called Cthulhu Mythos? Why do those people who understand the truth go mad? That's actually a pretty easy question to answer, and we even have a beautifully crafted paradigm to prove it...

Imagine the human being as having two 3 fluid oz. bottles in it. Label one of those bottles 'Sanity' and the other 'Knowledge'. Now fill the 'Sanity' bottle full of water. When you're born the 'Sanity' bottle is full of water, but as you learn things you tip tiny amounts of that water into the 'Knowledge' bottle. So as you become more understanding of the world, your maximum sanity (the water in the other bottle) lowers.

Sanity is therefore inversely proportional to knowledge. A man with more knowledge is much more likely to go insane than one with little understanding of the world around him.  
Of course, basic stuff like gravity or biology or maths isn't going to tip you over the edge. Heavy stuff, like seeing people die, or getting hooked on drugs or whatnot, can push you into indefinite insanity... an undetermined stint in your local lunatic asylum. But even then, the amount of sanity you've lost is only a few milliliters, a couple of thimblefuls at best.

Now imagine tipping a couple of fluid ounces of water from the 'Sanity bottle into the 'Knowledge' one. That's a pretty big amount of water... and it's a little harder to forget that much info. So what does it all mean?

What if you were told that the Loch Ness monster existed, and you were shown _conclusive_ evidence. That'd be pretty screwed up, and you'd probably think "Whoa!" But it's not particularly huge on the scale of things... Most people have a sneaking suspicion that there is something in the Loch.  
Now, how about you were given evidence that your entire life is a lie... that all your friends and family are actors in a play worthy of The Truman Show or a Phillip K. Dicks novella. That would really mess up your head...  
Aliens on Earth? Even if you're pretty strong willed you'd probably go nuts for a while at the sheer weirdness of it all.

And what about if I showed you a picture of something that lived on this Earth before the dawn of time, existed in more than the normal three dimensions and couldn't be seen properly because it had angles that went off at right angles to space-time. Your brain wouldn't be able to comprehend it, let alone understand it. That amazing little ape brain of yours would be floundering, wondering what the hell that thing was.

Because you KNOW that there aren't hundreds of alien races (and I mean really alien, as in polymorphic blobs et al, not humans with pointy ears and bits of latex stuck to their foreheads) living on Earth. You KNOW that there isn't a series of Gods here that impose their will on us and prepare for the time when they will be free. And you really KNOW that magic doesn't exist.

Actually magic does exist, although it's in the sense that it's true physics. Our galaxy is actually an exception rather than the norm of normal physics. In the rest of the universe, you could quite easily travel faster than the speed of light and warp science like putty. And you can do it here on Earth too, with sufficient will-power. Problem is that the knowledge needed to engage in such acts of 'Super-Science' or 'Magic' would bleed the last few drips of liquid from your Sanity bottle.

Nobody said it would be easy being human... especially when there are things out there that can move through the angles of time and have a severe, near pathological, addiction to human flesh.

* * * * *

Above the screaming, the utter chaos in the car and the sounds of the horrible thing on the roof trying to punch through the metal with its beak, Spender could be heard to shout, "This is bloody stupid!"  
It was immeasurably harder to drive a car, look through the cracked windscreen, draw a gun, cock it, hold it up against the ceiling and unload the entire clip through the metal, than... say... brushing your teeth or eating a sandwich. Unsurprisingly, Spender found it hard to do. After accidentally blowing the last vestiges of the windscreen out with a misplaced bullet, he fired the remaining bullets through the ceiling.

The creature's beak, which at that moment had been poking through the gash it had made, and was trying to grab Mihoshi, suddenly pulled back up and disappeared. Then it came back down through another part of the roof, notably right above Spender's head. The attacked man raised his hands from the steering wheel and attempted to beat the probing appendages away. Behind him, the women were screaming along with the best of it. Even Ryoko seemed to be getting in on the act. Then Spender's foot slapped down on the brakes.

I will describe what happened next slowly, so that the full incident can be understood. Tenchi's father's car, which had ABS brakes dropped from sixty-five miles an hour to naught, nearly instantaneously. The beast on the roof, which failed to have hydro-assisted brakes, flew off the roof to land a yard in front of the now immobile car. As it got up, apparently unharmed, and prepared to leap at the glassless windscreen, the police car Burton was pushing, collided with the rear of Spender's vehicle.  
As you may know, physics dictates that it takes a good amount of time and distance for a speeding object to slow and as Burton failed to notice that the car in front of the police vehicle he was pushing had stopped, he did not press on the brakes.

The police car continued, pushing Spender's car forward at just under sixty miles an hour, dragging the creature in the middle of the road beneath theirs, and Burton's car's, wheels. The three battered vehicles continued for another thirty yards before finally exerting their energy and coming to a complete halt.

"Well, we certainly solved that problem, eh?" said Spender. He looked over his shoulder at those in the back of the people carrier. Ayeka, Ryoko, Mihoshi, Kiyone, Sasami and Washu stared back at him, ashen-faced and wide-eyed. Ryoko looked particularly pale. Even her usually vivid hair had lightened. Spender stared at her and then turned back to the road. "No pleasing some people." he muttered. He wound down the window and leant out of it, looking back at Burton, who was leaning out of his car window.

"Burton!" yelled Spender the two car lengths.  
"What?"  
"We just ran over that monster!"  
Burton rotated and looked back down the way they had driven. Then he looked at the rear wheels of his car. He turned back to Spender. "Seems that way!" he bellowed.  
"Sort it out would you?"  
"Yeah, alright."  
In the gloom, the hulking form got out of car, took his assault rifle from the back seat and walked into the darkness. There was a gunshot. Then another. Then a staccato chatter of rapid fire. The American returned, opened the boot of the car and retrieved a jerry can, before retiring once again into the darkness.

Everybody in the car jumped as there was a massive CRUMP! and the area was illuminated in brilliant light. Flames shot up into the air, to die down slowly. Burton came back to the car, rifle slung over his shoulder, jerry can in the other hand. He put them both in the boot before getting in the driver's seat. "It's dead!" he shouted from his window.

"Yippee-ki-yay," muttered Adams. He turned to Spender. "I thought you said you killed this thing."  
The dilettante shrugged. "We all make mistakes."  
"Next time you make a mistake, remind me not to be within a hundred yards of you, okay?"  
"Sure," nodded Spender. He reached across the other man and opened the passenger door. "Bye!" He gave the reporter a hearty shove and watched him roll out and onto the concrete. "Go and ride with Burton and Herr Doktor," he said, and before Adams, who had righted himself, could say a word, he slammed the door shut and accelerated.

"Do you have some problem with him?" asked Kiyone from the back.  
Spender looked at her via the rear-view mirror. "Of course. He's a reporter."

* * * * *

The problem of the police car was solved quite readily. When the group came to a steep, un-railed stretch of cliff, Spender pulled over, allowing Burton's car to push the hapless constabulary vehicle over the precipice. It made a satisfying crash as it plummeted straight through the sea of treetops below. The same treetops whipped back into place, hiding the car's passing. "I hate when we have to do that." said Spender to no one in particular.  
"How many times have you done it before?" asked Washu.  
"A dozen or so," replied the Englishman. He made to start the car up again, and felt a vice-like grip on his shoulder. Ryoko leant forward, hand still holding his arm tight, "Open the door."  
"Sorry?"  
"Open the door," she said again, more insistently. Spender noted the underlying barbed threat and did as he was told. From the grass, something furry leapt.  
Ryo-Ohki landed on Spender's lap, much to his chagrin, and then hopped up at Ryoko.  
"Ryo-Ohki!" cried Sasami. The cabbit gave a happy meow and then lunged, sitting on her head.  
"If you ever try to hurt Ryo-Ohki again, I will kill you," hissed Ryoko into Spender's ear.  
Spender swallowed, then nodded. "Believe me, madam. If I'd known what I know now, I wouldn't have bothered knocking on your bloody door. Can we get started now?"

Kurashika was the closest town to Tenchi's home. This wasn't actually saying much, though, because Tenchi's home happened to be twelve miles from it.  
"Y'know," said Spender as they pulled up at the outskirts, "This place has had a really weird history."  
Ayeka looked at her nails, trapped in the same mix of boredom, shock and worry - about Tenchi - , as the rest of the girls. "Really." she said.  
"Oh yes. I was going through the library's newspaper morgue. The school burnt down under mysterious circumstances... people said they saw explosions and a ghostly spectral woman..." He turned around in his seat. "And a house disappeared around here... one night it just vanished. Amazing. Something in the newspapers about a two planes colliding in mid-air and the debris obliterating the house. The Army quarantined a six block area, then the government bought the land and built a gymnasium on it. Some say it was a UFO that crashed there."  
"Oh. Um," said Ryoko.  
"Anyway, we're here now," stated Spender. He flicked on the indicators and pulled over at the side of the road. Behind them, Burton's car did the same.

The groups left their respective cars and shook their aching limbs in the way that people do after suffering from a _generally_ monotonous drive. They had parked outside what Ryoko had suddenly pointed out was the school she'd burnt... _looked at_, yes, looked at. That was it. Apart from the aliens and their Investigative cohorts, the street, and probably much of the town, was empty. Kurashika wasn't famed for its nightlife.

"Now." said Spender, "The fact is that your Tenchi fella is most likely around here somewhere. You'll probably find him on top of tall things... church steeples, pagodas, telegraph poles. Those winged beasties have a penchant for that, as Adams will tell you."  
"They have a penchant for that," affirmed Adams.  
Spender looked at the group. "It'll be daylight in... about... one minus three... oh, about five hours. We'll meet here at six tomorrow morning, whether we've found him or not." He suddenly thought of something. "And whatever you do, don't mess with the corpse, the monster might be saving bits of him for later..."  
Ignoring the looks he was being given, he continued, "Me and the lads will check out anywhere north of here. If you ladies did the south it'd probably be helpful."

"Okay." replied Kiyone, "But if you try to get out of your end of this bargain... I will arrest you for breach of contract."  
Adams raised his hand. "Excuse me, what bargain was this?"  
Ryoko answered. "The bargain that if you run away or stop looking for Tenchi we'll cut off your-"  
"Thank you." interjected Spender, "Let's get going shall we?"

* * * * *

** Japan, Oh-Eight-Hundred Hours,  
The Next Day **

The circular form of the Sol star had risen as per its usual course of action. It had crawled up the sky like a large yellow thing, moving slowly towards its apex, in a disquietingly loping manner. As if by some cue, the business men were moving about now, along with the school children, catching bullet trains to work or buses to school, and in some cases getting on the wrong one and ending up in the wrong place entirely.

Surrounding the school was a low build wall, which although having large railings jutting from it, gave just enough space to sit on. The pupils who usually sat there weren't waiting there today, as six strange women were using it as an impromptu bed and resting spot. A number of teenage boys watched them with ill-hidden interest.

"Get lost!" yelled Ryoko. She threw an empty drinks at them, which caused the nose-bleeding group to scatter back into the school grounds. She looked grumpy and tired, but no less enticing. Apparently.  
"Can you ever be quiet?" snapped Ayeka, who was lying on her side, eyes closed, on the wall. Her back was pressed against the metal railings.  
"Can you ever be quiet? Whine, whine, whine!" mimicked Ryoko. She walked over to an empty part of the wall and sat down on it. Mihoshi and Kiyone were sitting upright and asleep, the blonde woman once again resting her head on her partner's shoulder. She was drooling down Kiyone's top. Washu and Sasami were sitting on the wall also, Washu typing something into her astral computer and the young princess playing sadly with a down-trodden Ryo-Ohki.  
Apart from the interest imposed by those pupils trying to get a look at Ryoko's cleavage, no one was paying much attention to the group.

"Where are they?" asked Sasami gently to the cabbit. The creature flattened its ears and gave a quiet meow. "They were supposed to be here hours ago..." she said, then picked up the small furry Ryo-Ohki and carried her over to Ryoko. The Space Pirate looked up at her.  
"Do you think they're going to come?" asked Sasami. She put the cabbit back on her head.  
Ryoko's face turned into a snarl. "If they've bailed out on us... so help me-"  
There was a crackle of static electricity and her eyes glowed. She punched the railing, sending it spinning off into the school's front playground.

Then Ryoko froze. She felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck rise. "Those... little... bast-"

Everyone on the street, the small clumps of school children and suited businessmen suddenly stopped mid-step and turned to look at the far end of the street. Ryoko rose to her feet, hands clenched. Sasami turned around and looked, perplexed at the noises. The sounds were even loud enough to waken Kiyone and Mihoshi, whose gazes followed everyone else's. Ayeka opened her eyes. Washu looked up from her computing.

Four men, arms linked and looking vaguely familiar at that distance, were stumbling down the pavement toward them, scattering people in their wake. One of the men tripped, fell flat on his face and then rolled around on the floor for a bit, before crawling his way back up and vomiting in a shop front. The rest of the men continued coming, their song flowing gently down the stretch;

"See the little goblin,  
See his little feet,  
See his little nosey wose,  
Isn't the goblin sweet?"

The men stopped for a second to allow the straggler to catch up. "YES!" he bellowed.  
And the group started up again,

"See the little goblin,  
See his little feet,  
See his little nosey wose,  
Isn't the goblin s-"

Spender suddenly froze in his tracks, bringing the rest of the group to a halt. "Wa'sh wrong?" asked Adams. He ran his sleeve across his mouth and belched.  
"Oh bugger it," said Spender. He pointed at the Masaki residents who were all giving stares that would not only have killed, but would have flayed to the bone, then hung, drawn and quartered. "They're still here."

The Investigators suddenly found themselves feeling a little bit more sober, when Ryoko pointed at them and then pointed at her feet. She didn't look that happy.  
"Do you vhink dat she ist vanting to talk to us?" Heinkel asked.  
"Actually, I think she probably wants to castrate us..." replied Spender, "Well... I suppose it's better to make sure rather than just shoot our way out."  
The quartet tried to stagger as surreptitiously as possible over to the women.

"Morning," said Spender.  
"Guten Tag," Dr. Heinkel smiled.  
Adams wobbled about a bit, before falling onto his backside, and, deciding it was easier than getting up, stayed there. "Alright?"  
"Howdy," mumbled Burton, who took a sudden interest in his bootlaces.

Ayeka walked over to them. "Have you gentlemen, and I use that term in the loosest sense of the word, been... how should I put it? Well, _**DRINKING**_?" She bellowed the last part into Spender's face. He blinked, rocked unsteadily, "Just a tipple."  
"You smell like a brewery!" cried Ryoko. She turned to Ayeka, "And for once don't get me on this."  
Ayeka nodded. Scowled at the Investigators. "Did you find Tenchi?"  
"Not... exactly." replied Spender, "We got... sidetracked."  
"Sidetracked?"  
Spender gave a sharp nod, "Erm... well, we did start and then we got thirsty so we stopped at this bar... and one thing led to another. It got a little out of hand."  
"How out of hand?" growled Ayeka, giving a squint worthy of Clint Eastwood.  
"Well... after having a few drinks there, we went on to another pub... then we found this dance club... oh, and another pub. Then we went back to the dance club and got a lift in a taxi to another bar."  
"And," said Adams, from the floor, "An all-night bar and grill."  
"Not to mention a sushi bar," Burton butted in.  
"And the sushi bar," admitted Spender. "Then there were another couple of pubs, and a disco... but we got chucked out of that-"  
Burton laughed, "I threatened the DJ with a broken bottle."  
"And then we went to three more bars and a brothel," completed Spender.  
"A BROTHEL!" wailed the two women.  
Adams looked at them, "It sold good beer."

* * * * *

"So what you're saying," asked Ayeka, "Is that not only didn't you find Tenchi... but you didn't even attempt to."  
The congregation was perched around the wall and pavement. The bustle of office workers was beginning to thin, but the school children in the playground were still waiting for the bell.  
"That'd be the gist of it," Spender said, picking at the seam of his trench coat. He was seated, crushed between Kiyone and Mihoshi, both of whom seemed less than pleased with what he was admitting.

"There is a reason for this," said Washu.  
"Apart from them being a group of idiot drunkards?" asked Ryoko. She sneered at Adams, who grinned back at her.  
Washu stopped typing on her computer and looked at the group. "Tenchi couldn't be found, because Tenchi isn't here."  
"What?!" The group turned to look at her.  
The petite scientist hopped from the wall and walked over to Ryoko. "While you were all running around looking for Tenchi, I took the time to run a psi-scan through the computer. With my geographic and computer know-how it took next to no time to work out that Tenchi wasn't here!"  
"It took a computer to work that out?" Spender queried.  
Everyone ignored him. "Then why didn't you tell us that earlier, _MOM_?" asked Ryoko in her most bitter-sweet and sarcastic voice.  
"Because it took her all night to do it probably," mumbled Ayeka, who was trying to comfort Sasami.

"Be quiet and listen," snapped Washu. "Tenchi isn't within a mile of here. He isn't within ten miles. Or a million miles. Or even on this planet."  
"He's on the moon. I told you so," nodded Spender.  
Washu raised her hand, shutting the Englishman up, "From what I can deduce, he isn't even in this universe. That would leave some kind of psi-pattern. No matter how small."  
"You mean," asked Ryoko, "He's... Tenchi's... dead?"  
Spender rolled his eyes. "Are you deaf as well as pointy haired? He's dead! Get over it! And let me go!"  
"No," said Washu, "He's alive. Somewhere." She reached up and grabbed hold of Ryoko's cheek. "Now, say thank you to your mommy for being so nice."  
"OW! Thank you..."  
"Thank you what?"  
"OWWW! Mommy!"

Sasami, who had been attached to Ayeka, suddenly let go and looked at Washu. "You mean he's alive?"  
"Have you known me to be wrong?"  
There was a quiet moment of thought. Washu grinned, "Okay. So I haven't had a 100% success rate but I'd put Tenchi's life on this one." She paused. "Hmm, that wasn't the best euphemism, was it? Anyway, the question is; where could Tenchi have gone to?"

The group sat and pondered on that for a while. In the schoolyard behind them the children were wiling away the time by talking or playing games. One such trio had a skipping rope and was getting the youngest member to jump the rope as it came round. They were singing to keep time;

"Tenchi, Tenchi,  
Lost at sea,  
Sail the waves  
To rescue me!"

Very slowly, the Investigators swiveled and looked at the small group of children. They were continuing their song with an added vigour as the rope whipped around faster. Ayeka was up first, she ran over to the gate in the fence, barged through and grabbed the skipping boy before anyone could make any move to stop her.  
She wrapped her hands around the boy's throat. "Where's Tenchi? WHERE IS HE?" she shrieked  
"ACK!" gagged the small boy.  
"I'm not sure that's really suitable in the situation!" called Adams from behind her.  
As if realising that attempting to strangle the boy wasn't helping, she let him go. The boy fell to the ground, his friends dropping the skipping rope and running away. Ryoko arrived, closely followed by the rest of the entourage.  
"I.. I'm sorry," said Ayeka to the child. Spender started giggling. The princess rounded on him and he shut up. She turned back to the boy, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."  
"Where did you get that song?" asked Ryoko. She helped the child up from where he lay.  
He stood there, wide-eyed. "What?"  
"Where did you get that song?" Ryoko asked again.  
"We... we just made it up," replied the boy. He rubbed at his neck and tried to sidle away. Ayeka grabbed him and held him fast, "What do you mean 'made it up'?"  
"We just thought about singing it... that's all."  
Spender frowned and knelt down next to the child. "Do you know a Tenchi?"  
"No," muttered the boy, "We just thought it up." He looked sheepishly at the group, as though he'd done something wrong. Ayeka released his arm and he scurried away to his friends.

"How curious," said Spender. He stood back up and rubbed the dirt from his knees. "How very curious." He turned to Ayeka, "Did Tenchi have any run in with the occult before we met with him?"  
"Apart from him being partly Juraian?" asked the princess.  
"Well... obviously."  
Not wanting to be kept out of a conversation involving her beloved, Ryoko broke in, "He's never been interested in that stuff."  
"Be quiet, Devil-Woman! He was asking a serious question!" snapped Ayeka.  
Spender waved them quiet. "Shut up the pair of you."  
The two women turned to him, prepared to answer him back, but then stopped. He was staring off into space, a wry smile nudging his lips. "I think," he said slowly, "It is time for a little investigation."

* * * * *

It didn't take them long to find more 'clues'. The women followed the Investigators at a reasonable distance, as the men weaved their way through the busying streets and markets. Just like birds have some inbuilt directional sense, so Spender and his troop had some kind of investigative sense. As they turned a corner and arrived in a street filled with electrical surplus shops, the pavements lined with cardboard boxes full of VCRs and laptops, Spender stopped.  
His eyes narrowed, and he took a couple of steps toward a pair of policemen who were putting posters on the side of their police box. One of the policemen was leaning on his wooden stave, while the other hammered the sheet into the wood. Finally the hammerer took a step back and surveyed his handiwork. The women gasped, and the Investigator's raised a collective eyebrow.

The poster had, in large block capitals, the word "WANTED!" at its top. Underneath that was a picture of a man none of them had seen before, but the name under that picture was unmistakable; "Tenchi Masaki".

"Are you people okay?" asked the policeman with the stave. He looked at the group.  
Spender pointed at the poster. "What's he wanted for?"  
"You've seen him?" asked the hammer wielding policeman.  
"No," Spender shook his head. "Just curious."  
"Well in that case, he broke into a play being held over at the theatre. Disrupted the play, set alight to the curtains... hit one of the actors with a wooden stage sword. Put her in hospital."  
Mihoshi opened her mouth to say something, but Kiyone clamped her hand across it. "What was the play?"  
"Oh I don't know. Some French thing. "Nine People Searching For A Friend" I think it was," replied the policeman with the stave. The other policeman opened the boxes door and went inside, closing the door behind him.

"Come on. Let's go," said Spender. He turned around and motioned for the rest to follow.  
The policeman still outside watched him. "Have you seen the Yellow Sign?" he asked.  
Spender froze. He faced the man. "What did you just say?"  
The policeman gave him a funny look. "I asked, 'By the way, do you have the time?'." He continued his look. "Are you okay, sir? You look pale."  
The Englishman stared at the policeman for a few seconds, then returned to the group. "Are you okay?" asked Adams, "You do look a little pale."  
"What did he ask?" queried Spender as they walked back to the school and their cars.  
Sasami stroked the cabbit still sitting on her head and answered. "He asked if you had the time."

"This is getting weird," muttered Spender. "For it is a terrible thing to fall into the hands of the Living God."  
He realised that he was walking alone. Behind him the rest of the group had stopped in their tracks. "What's wrong?" he asked.  
"Didn't you hear what you said?" asked Ayeka.  
"This is getting weird?"  
Mihoshi creased her brow. "No. The bit about the god that lives.... Are you okay? You're sweating."

And that Spender was. Quite profusely. "We're going to New York. NOW!"

* * * * *

At the Masaki Shrine, Katsuhito watched over his teacup at the two suited men sitting opposite him.

They both wore matching charcoal suits and ties and shoes so shiny you could dazzle planes with them. They looked between the age of thirty and forty (although it was so hard to tell with westerners. They did all look the same) and although they didn't look related in the slightest, the only definite way to differentiate them was that one of the two was wearing a pair of spectacles.

"Can you tell me again why you're here?" asked Katsuhito politely.  
The spectacle wearing one nodded. "My name is Mr. Whint. My companion is Mr. Kidd. We are looking for a certain man who may have turned up at your shrine over the last few days."  
"We are very interested. Aren't we, Mr. Kidd," said the other man.  
"Very, Mr. Whint," replied Mr. Kidd.

"Well," said Katsuhito, "There was a lot of noise last night. Although my grandson and his friends are very noisy."  
The two men nodded. They had checked out the house before coming up and had found it in an absolute shambles. The pentagrams painted on the floor and the hole in the ceiling had proved to be indicators of what had occurred.  
"Aren't grandchildren just, Mr. Kidd," said Mr. Whint.  
"Very true, Mr. Kidd... Very true. Might I ask, sir, did you hear gunfire?"  
Katsuhito pondered on that. "Now that you mention it, these old ears of mine might have heard gunfire."  
"Well, thank you for your time, sir," said Mr. Whint.  
The pair rose and Katsuhito stood up also. "Do not worry, sir." said Mr. Kidd, "We will show ourselves out." They turned and walked out of the Shrine office without another word.

"Mr. Spender is quite incautious, is he not, Mr. Kidd?" said Mr. Whint as they walked the steps down from the Shrine.  
"That he is, Mr. Whint. That he is. It will be quite fitting for us to kill him. Will it not?"  
"Quite fitting. Mr. Kidd. Quite, quite fitting."

The two men continued their languid steps down to the bottom.

  
- - - - - - - - - -

Ayeka:- What _is_ going on? Can't we find Tenchi the normal way?

Spender:- There is no normal way...

Ryoko:- Next episode we travel on a cross-planet trip to find someone who may tell us where Tenchi is.

Spender:- Oh I can tell you where Tenchi is... it's getting him that's the hard part.

Sasami:- I'm getting a bad feeling about this.

- - - - - - - - - -

COMING NEXT EPISODE:-

New York, New York! So good they named it two times. But with the Tenchi crew (minus Tenchi) and the Spender team heading there, is the Big Apple gonna become the Crispy Pancake?

GASP! as we enter the elusive nightclub and disco palace that patrons don't realise is a den of horror and destruction! Like most of New York City, really...

SEE! how American alcohol licencing laws prove to be a threat to our heroes' tolerance and sanity!

SQUINT! at the photographs that line the nightclub's walls... Hey, isn't that Jimmy Hoffa?

GRIMACE! as someone from Spender's mysterious past deals, while grinning a barbed smile, with our favourite group of wandering misfits.

BELIEVE! that the Door is The Way!

TREMBLE! as we open a chapter in history that brings surrealism to new and disturbing heights.

DON'T MISS OUT ON THE NEXT EXCITING INSTALLMENT OF

  
THE INVASION OF THE BODY STEALING, JOY RIDING BLOBS!  
or  
CTHULHU MUYO

It's rather good, really

- - - - - - - - - -

Help! The paranoids are out to get me! The Call of Cthulhu RPG (on which this is based) is the property of Chaosium Inc. Tenchi Muyo is the sole responsibility of the company known as Pioneer. Congratulations for reading this. Many characters and ideas (including Aktion Gotterdammerung and the incident at Castle Naudabaum) are also based on Pagan Publishing's excellent supplement 'Delta Green', and it also has to be said that many Mythos monsters/characters are not from H.P Lovecraft but from other just as able writers. If I knew your names, guys, I'd write them but until I remember who from who… I'll just not take any niceties from people. Spender, Adams, Burton, Dr. Heinkel, and all those other characters are mine. Everything else is mine. Got it? So follows an important bulletin; ThE Red PANTs haVe the SuSpEnderS. EaT ThE FiSH... thank you for your time and consideration in ignoring these eit-P's.

- - - - - - - - - -

Remember the Ministry Of Information is on call 24 hours a day, seven days a week (except on Bank Holidays, happy hour at the Keg and Arm or when the Stars are Right). If you need to contact the author, he can be reached at "minstryagent@hotmail.com". 

- - - - - - - - - -

Review. Review. Review. Review. Review. Review. Review. Review. Review. Review. Review. Review. Got it yet? Review. Review. Review. Review. Review.

- - - - - - - - - -

_I am the raping sunglass gaze  
Of sweating men and escort agencies  
60's alienation the anthem of care  
Now a knife constantly slashing eyelids  
  
Slavery to the beat  
Slavery to the chord  
Slavery to the pleasure  
Slavery to the god  
Slavery to the beat  
Slavery to the chord  
Slavery to the pleasure  
Slavery to the god  
  
They dig their new scene and their parties  
Where Stonehenge is worshipped and drugs a deity  
Vicarious thrills re-run their youth  
We follow, we have no voice, the dead  
Radio nostalgia is radio death  
I wanna cover diamonds on my wife  
Hardrock nostalgia the Stones on CD  
Tranquilised icons for the sweet paralysed  
  
Slavery to the beat  
Slavery to the chord  
Slavery to the pleasure  
Slavery to the god  
Slavery to the beat  
Slavery to the chord  
Slavery to the pleasure  
Slavery to the god  
  
So cool the new sound of the decade  
Thinks it's so fresh not a post Elvis still  
All taste is nothing - Old pictures blow-dried  
Rebellion, it always sells at a profit  
I am a face of fashion in Soho Square  
My tie is Paul Smith or Gaultier  
My cheeks blood red as my favourite port  
But hey, cocaine keeps cholesterol at bay  
  
Slavery to the beat  
Slavery to the chord  
Slavery to the pleasure  
Slavery to the god  
Slavery to the beat  
Slavery to the chord  
Slavery to the pleasure  
Slavery to the god  
Some god  
- Nostalgic Pushead ; Manic Street Preachers_


End file.
